


Fire Emblem: Ragnarok

by Silent_Witness



Category: Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-06-14 21:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 94,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15398391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_Witness/pseuds/Silent_Witness
Summary: Aurea. A continent locked in an endless spiral of war and retaliation. And fueling these conflicts are the Rings of Power, relics from a era long passed that grant their wearers unimaginable power. But on the isle of Grimhold, far from any battlefield, a lowly miner finds a new Ring. And with the discovery of this Ring, the fires of war threaten to sweep across Aurea once more, bringing conflict not seen since the days when the gods still walked the earth.And this time, all will be consumed.





	1. Prologue: The Ring

In the darkness beneath the earth, under the flickering orange light of a small lantern, a young man toiled.

He swung his pickaxe at the stone wall in front of him over and over, ignoring the sprays of dust and rock chips that erupted with every strike. This far down, the air was hot. Sweat poured from his forehead, his back, and even the palms of his hands; several times, the pickaxe almost slipped right out of his grasp as he reared back for the next swing. After several more strikes, the young man lowered his pick, resting it against the stony floor by his feet, and wiped the sweat from his brow. He then picked up the lantern, and held it close to the wall on his left.

The brown band he had been following had begun to taper- now slightly smaller than the span of his hand- as it meandered across the stone, and out of sight behind the wall ahead. The young man permitted himself a small smile. The vein of iron was even longer than even his most optimistic predictions.

The young man moved to set his lantern down and continue digging. But as he did, a faint clanging sound echoed from somewhere deep within the tunnel behind him. The young man looked over his shoulder, into the dark tunnel. “It’s that late already?” he asked, mostly to himself, as he grabbed his pickaxe. Normally, he’d clear away the debris, but that could wait until tomorrow. And in any case, he needed to pass on the news to Foreman. So, tools in hand, the young man took one last look at the iron vein, before he turned and started walking down the tunnel.

The young man wound his way through the narrow tunnels alone. There were others who worked the mine, of course, but he rarely worked alongside them. When he chanced upon them, they would often complain- about the layout of the tunnels, about the heat, about the darkness, about the strange knocking sounds they sometimes heard, about any number of things. But the young man never complained. The mine was practically his home by now, more so than the house he shared with Foreman- the stone, the darkness, the heat, were all comforting, in their own ways.

Eventually, the young man heard a clamor of people, and felt a rush of cold air on his skin. Working in the deepest tunnels, the young man was often the last to reach the mine entrance, and today proved to be no different. A group of men, about thirty in all, were already gathered in a half circle just outside the entrance. From somewhere behind the crowd, the young man could hear the deep voice of another man speaking: “...a few weeks, the merchant ships will be arriving from the mainland. And I’m glad to say that through your hard work, we’ve managed to mine double our expected quota.”

A whoop went up amongst the other miners, as the young man came to a stop at the very back of the crowd. He crossed his arms, ignoring the praise, simply waiting for the speech to end. He had always found such speeches to be strange. After all, Foreman had told him that mining was his job- that he should not ask to be praised for doing what was expected of him. But the young man’s ruminations were interrupted when someone tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, Quinn!” a hushed voice said. Quinn looked over, to see a lanky brown-haired man with round eyes looking back at him. He recognized the man- Eugene, a younger miner who'd come from abroad- from a place called “Dale.” Eugene smiled broadly. “Hear the good news? I’m thinking I’m gonna swing by Freed’s to celebrate. You should come with me.”

“Sorry. Can’t. Have to check in with Foreman,” Quinn replied flatly.

“We can go when you’re done. I’ll wait up for you.”

Quinn’s second response was just as flat as the first: “I’m not old enough to drink.”

Eugene’s smile began to falter. “C’mon, one drink isn’t gonna kill you. Besides, we don’t get a lot of chances to celebrate. We should take advantage of it.”

Quinn finally looked away. “We’re just doing our jobs. There's nothing worth celebrating about that.”

Eugene frowned, though Quinn didn’t see it. “Well, if you’re gonna be like that…” Eugene departed, and the remaining miners began to disperse as well. Quinn pushed his way through the crowd to the front, until he found who he was looking for.

There were a great many number of things that made Foreman stand out: his height, his muscular build, the deep rumble of his voice. But for Quinn, what made Foreman stand out was his beard. Even as his hairline had grown thinner over the years, Foreman’s beard remained full, colored a fiery, vibrant red that never seemed to fade. Quinn came to a stop in front of Foreman- even for his age, Quinn was small, not even reaching the giant man’s chest. “Foreman,” Quinn stated.

“Quinn,” Foreman replied. “Well?”

Quinn wasted no time in giving his assessment: “The vein’s finally starting to taper off. I’d say we have about thirty, maybe forty peds before we reach the end.”

Foreman nodded approvingly, stroking his beard. “This is shaping up to be the longest vein you’ve found yet, Quinn. I’ll see if I can round up some spare hands to help you get that tunnel dug out faster.”

The young man nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be heading home now.”

Quinn turned, but Foreman added, “Be sure to wash up, won’t you?”

“Of course, sir,” Quinn nodded, before continuing down the darkened path away from the mine entrance, and into town.

The village of Lamorak, at the heart of the rocky island of Grimhold, was the only world Quinn had ever known. Every day, from before the sun rose until after the sun set, he worked the mines, digging up iron ore. It was hard work to be sure, and there were a few who disapproved of someone so young working in such a place, but after many years, Quinn had grown accustomed to it.

On the few occasions where he worked with the other miners, Quinn heard them speak of their plans for the future. Those that didn’t send their wages to family members abroad spoke of attending prestigious colleges in distant countries, sailing the ocean as a merchant, buying weapons and armor and fighting as mercenaries, or simply wandering the world as they pleased. But Quinn never shared such lofty dreams with the others. A few expressed concerns that he had seemingly no aspirations beyond the mine. A few even questioned whether he had any thoughts in his head at all.

Of course he wanted to do more than spend the rest of his life with a pickaxe in his hands. But his dreams were so far removed from the reality of his situation. And the others… they could never understand. It wasn’t long after the sweating sickness had come, after Foreman had taken him in, that the debt had first been mentioned. And, the mine was always in need of new hands. Quinn never joined the others in celebrating meeting quotas, because he had no money to pay for anything- all of the wages he _would_ have earned working the mine were taken by Foreman, as payments for his debt. It had been eight years since he began working, and it seemed that he would be working for many more.

Quinn arrived at a large house near the heart of Lamorak- Foreman’s house. Normally, he would have gone inside, dropped onto his bed, and immediately fallen asleep. But not tonight. First, he would have to draw water from the pump behind the house and scrub himself and his clothes clean, before being allowed to fall into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

In the darkness beneath the earth, under the flickering orange light of a small lantern, a young man toiled.

Quinn’s pace was slower than usual, as after every few swings, he would set his pickaxe down and scratch himself. He’d washed his clothes, as Foreman requested, but now they scratched uncomfortably at his skin as he worked. Quinn saw little point in washing, no matter how many times Foreman insisted on it. His clothes had been perfectly comfortable as they were, and in any case, what was the point if they were just going to be dirtied again?

After scratching himself for what must have been the hundredth time, Quinn bent down to retrieve his pick. But from the corner of his eye, he saw a twinkling, something very out of place in this mine. He grabbed his lantern and waved it about, trying to find the source of that strange glint of light.

He soon found the glint again, at roughly knee height. An unfamiliar giddiness arose in Quinn as he scrambled to find two tools he rarely used- a hammer and chisel. Finding jewels was rare, but not entirely unheard of. And rather than having to turn them over to Foreman, miners who stumbled across gems were allows to keep them, and do with them as they saw fit. More than a few workers had made a tidy profit by selling their finds to visiting merchants… or, so it was said. Quinn heard stories from the others, but until now, nothing like that had ever happened to him.

Quinn hammered against the wall, carefully removing the stone surrounding the gleam. From what little he could see, the jewel he’d found was fairly sizable. His heart rising, he picked up his lantern again, but there were no other glints or gleams in the stone. His shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment, but that was alright. The one gem was enough of a prize by itself. So, with care, he tapped the rock he’d removed with his hammer, trying to split it open without damaging the jewel. And after a few taps, the rock cracked in two. But Quinn didn’t find a gemstone inside.

Inside the rock was… a _ring_.

Narrowing his eyes, Quinn picked up the object and turned it over in his hands numerous times. It wasn’t just some strange trick of the light, or an unusual rock formation- he was, without a doubt, holding an expertly-crafted ring in his hands. He couldn’t tell exactly what it was made of in the light, but it was most certainly some kind of metal, set with a dark circular stone. It was large, too- it would hang loosely around the finger of even a man of Foreman’s size. But what stood out to Quinn the most was that the ring was… cold, in spite the heat of the air, and the stone it was embedded inside.

For several moments, Quinn examined the ring in silence, before a strange… urge came to him, and he held the ring between his index finger and thumb of his left hand. He brought up his right hand, and prepared to slide the ring onto his finger…

But, Quinn shook his head, stopping himself, and quietly slipped the ring into his pocket. “What am I doing?” he muttered to himself. Though he knew nothing of jewelry, he could tell that this ring was incredibly beautiful… but, Quinn had no need for beautiful things in his life. And in any case, he needed to get back to work. So, Quinn took up his pickaxe, and began digging once more.

* * *

 

Before long, the bell signalling the end of the day echoed down the mine tunnels. He joined the others at the entrance, hearing but not listening to Foreman’s usual end of the workday speech. He should have been happy with his find- after all, anything so valuable would wipe away a tremendous portion of his debt. But throughout the day, the ring sat strangely in his pocket- for such a little thing, Quinn felt that it carried far too much weight.

But it wasn’t until the other workers began to disperse, that he realized what that weight was.

The ring… belonged to someone. And they were probably looking for it. Meaning, it wasn’t his to sell. Quinn let out a long, disappointed sigh. He should have known better than to think things would be so convenient for him. So after reporting to Foreman (leaving out his discovery), he headed into the town. But, he wasn’t heading home. If he was to find the ring’s owner, he’d need to show it to as many people as he could. And Freed’s tavern seemed like the best place to begin his search.

And, he quickly realized, if the ring was indeed lost, its owner may reward him for returning it. The reward would certainly be a pittance compared to the value of the ring itself, but any amount, however small, would bring him that much closer to freedom.

Quinn entered the tavern, a smallish building not much bigger than Foreman’s house on the edge of town closest to the mine, and was surprised to find it largely empty. Behind the bar, chatting idly with a wiry blonde man, was the owner, Freed- a stocky man with a strange accent nobody could ever place. The blonde man, Lionel, took an occasional swig from his mug as he talked. Two men, squat, dark-haired, and nearly identical in appearance, sat on opposite sides of a table near the door, a board game between them: Boyd and Kyle, the twins. A fifth man sat at the far end of the bar, away from Lionel and Freed- the leather cuirass and green undershirt indicated he was one of Grimhold’s militiamen, though Quinn didn’t know his name.

All eyes turned to Quinn as he entered. “Quinn,” the brother on the left said. “This is unexpected.”

The young man approached the brothers’ table and said out loud, “I wanted to ask you all something.” He then pulled the ring from his pocket, and set it on the table. In the light, he could see that the band was silver, and the stone set in it was black. “Does this ring belong to any of you?”

The others, with the exception of Freed and the militiaman, gathered around. Without hesitation, one of the brothers picked up the ring to inspect it. “Where’d you find this?” he asked.

Quinn paused. He... hadn’t considered that someone may ask that question. Scrambling to find a plausible reply, he stammered, “I, uh… I found it on the ground. In a tunnel, while I was leaving the mine. I reckoned someone must’ve dropped it.”

The stout man handed the ring to his brother, who inspected it in turn. “Never seen something like this before,” the other twin said. He flicked the ring with its finger- in response, it let out a faint ringing sound. “Seems like it’s pretty high quality, too. Definitely not something you’d find around _this_ place.”

“Well, if no one comes to claim it, I’d be happy to take it off your hands, Quinn,” Lionel said, taking the ring out of the second twin’s hand. “I’ve been meaning to get an engagement ring for Phoebe.” Then, he slipped the ring on one of his fingers. “It’s pretty big though, even for me. I wonder if anyone around- _Guh!_ ”

The gem embedded in the ring suddenly lit up with a bright blue light. Thin, black lines, like veins, began rapidly creeping underneath Lionel’s skin from under the ring, spreading across his hand and up his arm. Lionel clutched at his hand, crying out in agony.

Everyone at the table took a step back. One of the twins asked, “Lionel! What’s wrong?”

The blonde man doubled over, crying out again as the veins spread up under his sleeve and emerged from under his collar, spreading over his neck and face. His free hand tightened around the ring, and he pulled, but nothing happened. “ _Ghhh! I- I can’t get this thing off!_ ”

The other men looked to one another, unsure what to do. But all Quinn could do was stare, completely frozen. The weight on his mind from the moment he found the ring… he understood what it was now. It wasn’t the knowledge that the ring belonged to someone else.

Rather, it was every instinct in his body, telling him that he’d found was dangerous, and that he should get rid of it immediately. It was a feeling he was unfamiliar with, because of how careful he was: the feeling of one’s life being in danger.

Lionel gave the ring one last tug. And he nearly threw himself off his feet when the ring slipped off his finger without any difficulty. Without a moment’s hesitation, he threw the ring away, shouting “ _Damn thing!_ ” There was a faint _ting_ when the ring struck the tavern’s wall, and another _ting_ when it fell to the floor, where it sat motionless. Lionel hunched over, gasping deeply, holding his hand. His hand trembled violently, still covered with those strange black veins, and there was a black mark at the base of his ring finger. After several long breaths, he asked, in a strained voice, “ _What the hell was that?_ ”

For several long seconds, no one made any movements. Then, one of the brothers began to approach the ring. He walked slowly, crouching, as though expecting the ring to move at any moment. When he was close enough, he began to reach toward it. “Was that-”

“Don’t touch it!” an unfamiliar voice shouted. The group looked to its source-it was the militiaman, standing by the bar. “Nobody touch it,” he said, it a quieter, but firm voice. He crossed the room, to where the ring had fallen. Slowly, he picked up the ring in his gloved hand, and looked at it for a moment, before dropping it into a pouch hanging on his belt.

The militiaman looked to the twins. “You two,” he said, “take that man to the priest.” He pointed to Lionel. Then he looked to Quinn with a cold gaze. “And as for you, young man… I’ll need you to come with me.”


	2. Prologue II: The Inquisitor

****Two weeks passed. The local priest used every spell he knew, every medicinal herb he could gather, but seemingly nothing could heal Lionel’s hand. At a loss, the priest finally sent a letter to colleagues on the mainland, asking if they knew of Lionel’s strange affliction.

The night he found the ring, the night Lionel had been crippled, the militiaman had dragged Quinn to the guardhouse at the far side of town to be interrogated. But in spite of their threats, and their beatings, his story did not change: he found the ring in the mine, and having not worn it for himself, was completely unaware of its curse. The militiamen were less than convinced, and it was only with the utmost reluctance that Quinn was released when dawn finally broke.

Foreman was waiting for Quinn at home. He was no more merciful to Quinn than the militia had been. And for the first time in almost eight years, the two of them missed a day of work. Foreman’s anger was a terrible sight to behold, but as with the militia, Quinn did not admit any guilt, and in the end Foreman had no choice but to let him go as well. Though his words at the end of that day made it abundantly clear that all was not forgiven: “Be thankful I won’t be making _you_ pay for Lionel’s treatment.”

As he had countless days before, Quinn chipped away at the stone walls of the mine, continuing to follow the iron vein. The help Foreman promised never arrived. In fact, most of the other miners seemed to be avoiding him. The isolation didn’t trouble him- after all, he spent most of his time working far away from the others. But, the whispers _did_ bother him. He couldn’t have known about the curse, but even if he had, harming his fellow workers would be of no benefit to him. Fewer workers meant less ore to sell to the merchants; less ore meant their wages would be lower; and lower wages meant it would take longer for his debt to be settled. And in spite of what others claimed, Quinn knew nothing of magic, and didn’t even know Lionel well enough to have held any grudges against him.

Between his swings, Quinn heard the sound of hard heels clacking against the stone floor, growing louder with each tap. He gritted his teeth; no doubt it was a member of the militia seeking to bring him in for another round of questioning. Without looking back, he called out, “I already told you people everything I know. Why can’t you just leave me alone already?”

A woman’s voice replied, “Yes, I’ve read the statement. But I’d prefer to hear it from you directly.”

Quinn froze. A woman’s voice was something very out of place in these tunnels. No women worked the mine- for that matter, there were no women in the militia, either- and although a few of the others had wives or fiancées, they and everyone else in town knew better than to enter the mine unless it was absolutely necessary. He looked back, largely out of curiosity.

Standing in the tunnel with her arms clasped behind her back was a woman, dressed in white. Her clothes, too, were very out of place- a white coat with dark brass buttons, white pants, and a white cap, along with black gloves, black boots, and a black belt with a white sword hanging from it, all immaculately clean. What stood out to Quinn the most, however, was her height. She wasn’t as tall as Foreman- nobody was- but she was taller than most of the other miners, himself included. And certainly, much taller than any woman he’d ever met.

The woman looked at him keenly. “Are you Quinn?” she asked.

“Uh… I- I am,” he stammered, setting his pickaxe aside. Her voice was calm, but there was something about her gaze, about the hard expression on her angular face that unsettled him.

“I need to ask you a few questions. Come with me.”

The young man huffed and turned his back on the woman. He didn’t know who she was, but despite her intimidating aura, if she wasn’t part of the militia, he had no reason to obey her. “I’m sorry, but whatever it is, it’ll have to wait until we’re done for the day.”

Quinn reached for his pickaxe, but a gloved hand seized his wrist. With an icy voice, the woman said, “I’m afraid this is something that _can’t_ wait _._ ”

Without waiting for a reply, the woman began pulling Quinn down the tunnel to the mine entrance. Her pace was unrelenting- several times, he almost tripped over loose stone or cart railways. But she didn’t let him go, even after the two emerged from the mine, nor after the two entered town. It wasn’t until she’d dragged him into Freed’s tavern and sat him in an empty chair that she finally let him go.

In the light of the sun, the woman’s features became more apparent. Her hair was seemingly tucked under her cap, leaving only two pale blue bangs that reached her chin, framing her face. Her eyes, too, were blue, but of a much deeper shade. He was reminded of a necklace a merchant had once brought to town, set with a deep blue stone that he called “lapis lazuli.”

“I realize now that I haven’t yet introduced myself,” the woman said, pulling Quinn from his distracted thoughts. The woman touched the beak of her cap. “My name is Ingrid. I’m an Inquisitor of the Archonite Order, and a direct subordinate of Mother Agnes.”

Quinn stared at the woman- Ingrid, in silence. Whatever meaning her title had was completely lost on him.

“Now…” Ingrid began, resting a hand on the table and leaning towards Quinn. “I understand that twelve days ago, you found a ring somewhere in Lamorak’s mine. I want you to tell me exactly how you found it.”

Quinn looked up at the woman in silence. If she knew about the ring, then she no doubt knew everything that happened that day. Questioning him was pointless.

She leaned slightly closer to him. “And I would appreciate you telling me the truth.”

Quinn quickly turned his gaze down to his hands. He couldn’t face this woman- when their eyes met, he felt as though she were burrowing into his very thoughts, leaving all of his secrets bare before her. There was only thing he hadn’t told anyone during the endless rounds of questioning. But beneath Ingrid’s gaze, that quickly changed. “I… found it while I was digging,” he said, hesitantly. “It was… I found it stuck in the rock.”

Ingrid’s eyes widened slightly, though with gaze averted, Quinn didn’t see it. “It was embedded _in_ the stone?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah…” To hear it said out loud, it was completely absurd. There was no way she would believe him. In truth, even after having seen it with his own eyes, Quinn doubted his own words nearly the moment they left his mouth.

If Ingrid had any doubts, she kept them to herself. “Did you put on the ring for yourself at any point?”

“No.” He looked up at her. “Why are you asking me all this? If you’re here, then you already know what happened, right?”

Ingrid ignored his question, asking one of her own: “Where is the ring now?”

Quinn averted his gaze again. “Someone in the militia took it. I… don’t know where it is now.”

“I see.” She walked to the door, before looking back. “I need to speak with this ‘militia.’ I’ll return shortly. _Do not_ leave this building.” And with those words, she stepped outside.

For a long while, Quinn simply sat in the tavern silently, the occasional creak in the old building as his only company. He didn’t leave the tavern. He didn’t even dare to rise from his seat. That woman wasn’t part of the militia, that much was apparent. She was another, much more dangerous beast altogether.

After several long minutes, the tavern door creaked open, and the woman returned. “I have one last question for you, Quinn,” she said, as she approached. “Is _this_ …” She held out her hand, and set something on the table. “…the ring you found?”

Lying on the table was a silver ring, adorned with a jet-black gemstone. He hadn’t seen it since that day, but there was no mistaking it. Quinn nodded. “That’s it.”

“I see,” Ingrid replied, nodding to herself. She then looked at Quinn. “I want you to put on this ring.”

Quinn’s eyes widened. “What?”

Ingrid folded her arms behind her back, her gaze icy. “I believe my request was rather clear.”

Quinn shot to his feet. “Are- Are is you insane? There’s no way I’m touching that thing! Not after what it did to Lionel!”

“ _Sit. Down._ ”

Quinn instantly dropped back into his seat. They were just two words, but they had an edge hidden within them, something he’d never heard from another person. Ingrid said nothing else as she folded her arms across her chest- she simply narrowed her eyes at him, expecting him to comply.

With a trembling hand, Quinn reached for the ring. As before, it was cold to the touch. For a moment, he held the ring between his thumb and forefinger, as he had on that day. But this time, after taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and slid the ring onto his right index finger.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Quinn felt the ring pulse with a sudden heat. It tightened around his finger, and-

…That was all.

He opened his eyes, and looked down at the ring on his finger. No black veins spread across his hand. The black stone did not shine. He tried to adjust the ring with his other hand, but it refused to budge, wrapped tightly around the base of his finger. “What… what is this?” he asked.

Ingrid touched her chin, and mumbled to herself, “As I thought…”

Quinn looked at Ingrid. At first, he was afraid, but this woman seemed to know things about this ring, things he didn’t, and her refusal to explain herself was beginning to wear thin. “What? What’s as you thought?” He stood, holding up his hand. “You know something about this ring, don’t you? What is this thing!? Tell me!”

Ingrid clasped her arms behind her back. “The ring you’re wearing is a Ring of Power. And it has chosen _you_ to be its Bearer.”

“Chosen?” Quinn looked down at the ring, his frustration replaced by confusion. “How… what do you mean? How can a ring choose someone? How can a ring do… _anything?_ ”

“I assure you, everything will be explained in due time. But first, I need to report to my superior in Tristan. And I need you to come with me.”

* * *

“ _Absolutely not!_ ” Foreman roared.

Ingrid stood before the enraged man, her arms clasped behind her back, her face calm. “This matter is not open for discussion,” she said plainly. “I’m taking the boy to Tristan with me.”

Foreman stepped right up to Ingrid, and loomed over her. “And who gave you that right? Huh!?”

Ingrid didn’t retreat. She didn’t move at all, save to tilt her head up to meet Foreman’s gaze. “The King of Bannon,” she replied. Her voice was calm and level, in complete contrast to Foreman’s shouts. “By his decree, the Archonite Order has the authority to recruit any wielder of a Ring of Power found on Bannish soil.”

The sun had begun to set. Ingrid had wanted to leave right away, but Quinn insisted that he had to tell Foreman that he was leaving. In the end, she relented, but insisted that she be the one to pass on the news. So, Ingrid interrupted Foreman’s end-of-the-day speech to explain who she was, why she had come, and what was to happen next.

Foreman had been… less than pleased by the news.

“To hell with your Order!” Foreman shouted. He raised his fist. “And to hell with _you!_ ”

Whatever happened was so fast that Quinn couldn’t keep track of it. But in an instant, it was over. Foreman was lying on the ground, on his stomach; Ingrid had grabbed his arm, and twisted it up behind the larger man’s back at a painful looking angle, while resting her foot at the base of his neck. A few of the other miners stepped forward, as though to intervene, but none came any closer. After all, Foreman was a strong man- and if this woman could bring _him_ to heel so easily, what hope did they have of besting her?

“I know your kind,” she said coldly. “You may be able to deceive others, but I’m not so easily fooled. Taking in a child, making him a slave, and calling it kindness… yes, I know your kind. I’ve put plenty of your kind to the sword.”

“ _M-Miss Ingrid!_ ” Quinn shouted, running forward. “Please! Don’t hurt him!”

For a moment, Ingrid gave Quinn the same icy glare she’d given to Foreman, before looking down at the giant man. “His concern is wasted on you.” She finally let go of Foreman’s arm, and stepped over him. “I’ll be taking the boy now. If you try to stop me, I won’t hesitate to take more than that.” She didn’t spare Foreman a second glance as she walked away.

As she passed Quinn, she said, “Come. We’re leaving.” She didn’t wait for a reply.

Whispers erupted from the other miners. Among them, Quinn made out, “Who was that woman?” “Is Quinn being arrested?” and “What the hell was she talking about slaves for?”

But Quinn wasn’t focused on them. Nor was he focused on Ingrid. His attention had turned to the man who had raised him. Quinn approached cautiously as Foreman slowly rose back onto his feet. “F-Foreman?” He didn’t say anything. So he called again, “Foreman, are you-”

“ _Go_.” That one word made Quinn stumble back. Foreman’s tone was cold. Not that he’d ever spoken warmly to Quinn before, but that one word was more distant than anything the boy had ever heard before. “If she wants you that much, she can keep you.” Foreman dusted himself off, before he turned his back on Quinn, and walked away.

Quinn could only stare at Foreman’s back. The man who had taken him in, who had raised him for almost ten years, turned his back on him, just like that. But any further thoughts were interrupted when Ingrid called, “Quinn!” With nowhere else to go, he hurried to her side.

The two began walking away from the mine, but not toward Lamorak. This path led away from the village, a path Quinn had never taken before. “I told you that we would have been better off leaving as soon as we could,” Ingrid said.

“But, what about my-”

“You can consider your debt with the foreman settled.” And she continued on, without another word.

Quinn came to a halt. How could she have known about that? She couldn’t have been in Lamorak for more than a day, maybe two at the most, but she’d found out something that he’d kept hidden from his coworkers for years. He followed Ingrid once more at her urging, but kept a safe distance from her. This woman was a stranger to him, but somehow, she knew a great deal about _him_.

And that one fact frightened him more than anything she had said, or done, that day.

* * *

Quinn and Ingrid spent the next two days aboard a ferry, sailing to the mainland. Quinn spent nearly the whole journey hunched over, desperately trying to keep an unfamiliar queasiness at bay as the ship swayed beneath his feet. Ingrid was seemingly unsympathetic to his woes, however, merely saying, “ If Mother Agnes accepts you into the Order, you’ll find yourself aboard ships often enough.”

Quinn’s discomfort was short-lived, as on the evening of the second day, the ship anchored at a port on the mainland- a place named Port Ysolde. From there, according to Ingrid, it would be another three days before they reached Tristan on foot.

In the morning, the two set out. But just outside the walls of the port, Ingrid stopped Quinn, saying, “I have something for you.” That something turned out to be an axe. A woodcutter’s axe, from the look of it.

Quinn looked at the axe warily. “Why are you giving me this?”

“It’s… unlikely that we’ll run into any trouble. But, we can’t rule out any possibility,” Ingrid replied. “It isn’t a proper weapon, but it’ll have to do until we reach Tristan.”

He held the axe in his hands. The weight was different from a pickaxe- lighter, and spread differently, but it was still similar enough that he shouldn’t have any troubles using it. And after fastening the axe to his belt, the two set out.

Quinn had never been able to wander far from Lamorak- the most he ever really saw of the outside world were the woods surrounding Lamorak, the leaves of the trees colored a seemingly perpetual gold. But the mainland… On the right of the road was a beach covered in dark gray sand- further on was the ocean, sparkling under the sun. On the left, hills covered in emerald green grass rolled gently as far as the eye could see. He turned back and forth, wide-eyed, trying to take in as much of the countryside as he could. “Wow…”

“The world is filled with many wonders,” Ingrid said. “Wonders far grander than this, I assure you.”

Quinn looked at Ingrid. “Like what?” he asked.

“The Arcane College in Corburg, for one. Or the White Cliffs of Wynnedown, in Morley. And of course, the Order’s Abbey in Tristan.”

Quinn didn’t recognize the names of any of those places, though they all sounded very far from Grimhold. “It sounds like you do a lot of travelling, Miss Ingrid.”

“I do. My duties have taken me all over Aurea…”

The two continued down the road, as Ingrid told Quinn of the places she had visited. Quinn listened eagerly, but he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that had settled over him, that had settled ever since Ingrid gave him the axe hanging from his belt. He wasn’t sure what she meant by “trouble,” but he was certain she hadn’t been talking about trees.

And as the sun began to set, and Quinn and Ingrid passed through a small woodland, his worst fears came to light.

“Ho there,” a rough voice called. From behind a nearby tree emerged a man, who was every bit as rough as his voice suggested. Dark-haired, grimy, wearing tattered leather armor- Quinn had never seen one before, but from the stories others had told, there was only one thing the man could have been. A bandit.

What the stories couldn’t capture, though, was smell. The man _stank_ \- he stood a good ten peds away from him and Ingrid, but he could still smell him even at that distance.

Ingrid must have recognized the man for what he was as well, as she whispered harshly, “Quinn, stay behind me.” But her warning was in vain, as more men emerged from behind nearby trees, surrounding them. Five in all.

“Looks like luck isn’t on your side today, friends,” the bandit said. “Now just hand over everything you’ve got, and things won’t have to get messy.”

Another bandit approached Quinn from the side, his eyes fixed on his hand. “That’s a fine ring you’ve got,” he said. “Much too fine for a boy like you.” He drew a dagger and pointed it a Quinn’s chest. “ _Hand it over._ ”

There was a sharpness to his tone. The very same sharpness that was in Ingrid’s words to Foreman. Quinn didn’t recognize it in Lamorak, but here, he understood it perfectly:

This man was going to kill him, if he didn’t get what he wanted. Him, and Ingrid.

But Ingrid showed no fear, stepping between Quinn and the bandit, her arms clasped behind her back. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”

“Oh really?” the bandit asked, tracing his finger along Ingrid’s collarbone. “And you’re gonna stop us? All by yourself?”

Ingrid’s expression was like stone; her voice like ice. “Yes.”

In a flash, Ingrid had unsheathed her sword. She stabbed it up, through the bottom of the bandit’s jaw, and out through the top of his head, before drawing it back just as quickly. For a few moments, the bandit stumbled backwards, before he fell, and lay on the ground, motionless.

One of the remaining bandits dropped his weapon and ran. But there were still three more. Ingrid turned and charged toward another of the bandits.

But Quinn could only stand, frozen. Ingrid… had killed that man. It wasn’t that death was completely unknown to him- he was a miner, after all. Whether it was from collapsed tunnels, hidden pockets of poisonous gas, or something as mundane as falling on a stray pickaxe or sharp rock, he knew more than a few people who went into the mine one day and never came back out. But all those had been _accidents_. Ingrid-

“ _Quinn!_ ” Ingrid shouted.

He looked up- a bandit had closed in on him, sword pulled back for a powerful swing from the side. His body reacted to what he saw before he recognized what he was seeing, grabbed the axe from his belt, and brought it up to block the blow. There was a loud _crack_ as the blade struck the axe’s wooden handle and cleaved straight through it. Before Quinn could react, the bandit drew back his sword for a powerful thrust. The blade was aimed at his throat.

And he had no way to stop it.

He was going to die here.

This bandit was going to kill him, and cut the ring from his lifeless finger.

The broken axe handle fell from Quinn’s hand.

Quinn closed his eyes.

But it was not Quinn that opened them.

A blue light began to shine from the ring, as something that was not Quinn caught the blade with his bare hand. Blood leaked through his fingers as his grip tightened, and the metal shattered in his hand, like glass. “Wha-” was all the bandit could manage before not-Quinn shoved him back, knocking him over. The thing that wasn’t Quinn then fell on the bandit with a flurry of crushing blows, blows that cracked the ground beneath his body. Within seconds, the bandit’s face, his head, his skull and his brain were all pulverized into a soft red gristle. Then, the beast in Quinn’s body reared back, and let out a deafening roar- a terrible screeching sound, like metal plates being sheared in half.

The other bandits stumbled back upon hearing that sound, upon seeing the beast Quinn had become. Even Ingrid froze at the sight. One of the bandits shouted, “ _What the hell is that!?_ ” Instantly, the beast’s attention snapped towards him, and it charged. The bandit swung his sword, but the beast caught his wrist. He grabbed the man’s chest with his other hand, and pulled, tearing the man’s arm from his body in a spray of dark red blood. The bandit staggered, screaming in agony. But he was silenced when the beast ran him through with his own sword, his severed arm still clinging tightly to the hilt, and he fell.

The last bandit tried to run. But escape was impossible. And with his back turned, he never saw his death swiftly approaching. In the last moments of his life, the bandit felt a burning pain, as something pierced through his chest; the last thing he saw was an arm, covered in plates as black as coal, emerging from the middle of his chest. He died on his feet, moments before the beast tore its arm from his body, and let him fall forward.

Then, the beast turned to face Ingrid.

Its image was burned into her mind forever. It was Quinn, the boy from Lamorak, but… _not_ . It looked at her through his eyes, wore his face… but it was _not_ Quinn. A single short horn sprouted from his right temple, curling forward. Below that, its right eye shone with an unnatural, cold blue light. For a moment, the beast looked at her.

Then, with a deep growl, it took a heavy step towards her.

In that moment, Ingrid would do two things. Both things she had only ever done in her life once before.

First, Ingrid retreated from an enemy- not because she was ordered to, not because it would provide a tactical advantage, but from pure, instinctive fear of the presence before her. It was only a single step backwards, but it was enough.

And second, Ingrid dropped her weapon. She knew that to lose her weapon in battle would mean certain death. But once again, instinct took hold. It told her that if she did not disarm herself at that very moment, then she would die where she stood. Her sword clattered against the ground, and all at once, the beast’s growls became silent.

Quinn blinked, as if suddenly awakened.

Before him, some distance away, was Ingrid. There were a few streaks of red on her coat, and she had an odd expression on her face, as though she was… _afraid_. “Ingrid?” He stepped toward her, but his foot hit something soft. He looked down.

Lying on the ground in front of him was a body. One of the bandits. There was a hole in his back, large enough that Quinn could see the ground beneath his body. “Huh?” He reached for the man, but there was something… _strange_ about his arm. He looked at it.

His arm…

Enormous black plates sprouted from his skin. Caught on them were flecks of red and white- bone, flesh, blood. Beneath the plates, he saw veins- countless veins, twisting like the roots of an old tree, all shining with a brilliant blue light. The black gem of the ring, too, was glowing with that same light. And his hand, it had turned into a black talon, covered with those strange black plates. His fingers ended in black claws that looked sharp enough to rend steel with ease.

For a moment, Quinn looked down at himself, at his hands, covered with blood.

Then, he screamed.

His screams were so loud that for a moment, he deafened himself. He wasn’t sure when he started running. And he wasn’t sure when he’d stopped. It seemed that one moment, he was staring down at himself, and the next, he was bent over in front of a tree, breathing hard. But every time he blinked, he saw his blood-covered hands, and the mangled remnants of those bandits.

And then the smell came to him.

He vomited. The smell… for some reason, it was… _sweet_. Like the candied apples Miss Heather made when the merchants came in the spring. That thought alone was enough to make him vomit again.

His legs, already shaking from weakness, could no longer support his weight, and Quinn fell to his knees in his own sick. But that was the furthest thought from his mind. The weight of his actions was only now beginning to sink in.

Those men… they were dead.

They were dead, because he’d killed them.

Even if they were bandits, even if they’d threatened him and Ingrid first, he’d still killed them.

At first, he didn’t make the connection. Even though he felt their flesh and bone give way under his blows, it all felt so… unreal. As though he were in a dream, watching someone else act, through their eyes. But the sticky blood covering him was all too real.

He looked down at his hand, still unable to catch his breath. It was… normal, again. The gem in his ring had gone dark once more. He reached for it, and tried to tear it from his finger. But it was to no avail. It was just as the militia… as everyone had said. This ring truly was cursed. Only an evil thing could drive him to do what he did. His axe. Where was his axe? He’d cut off his finger if he had to, if it meant being rid-

“Quinn.”

He looked back at hearing his name. Ingrid was there, but there was something different about her. Her usual stony, stoic expression had been replaced with something else, something… softer. Her tone, too, had changed, to something softer, and quieter.

Quinn struggled to find his breath. “I… In… grid…” was all he could manage, before he began to cry.

They were small at first. But his cries quickly grew in strength, until they became powerful sobs that racked his entire body. He tried to hold them in, to stop himself. Ingrid was there- she would no doubt look down on him for his weakness. But he couldn’t, as hard as he tried. He felt… something warm wrap around his waist, and press against his back. He tried to pull away, but the warmth simply tightened its grip on him.

"It's alright," he heard Ingrid say.

So, drained of all his strength, he fell against the warmth, and cried, like a helpless child.

And he cried.

And cried.

Until he finally ran out of tears to shed.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before his cries finally ebbed away, nor how long Ingrid sat, holding him in her arms. But eventually, the only sound in the dark woods was Quinn’s ragged breaths. It took a long time before he was able to find his words again.

“…I can’t do this.”

Ingrid didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry, Miss Ingrid. But, I can’t do this.” He tried to pull away from her grip. But she held him closer.

“I wish I could have your innocence. To be able to grieve, even for my enemies,” she said, in a low voice. “But Death has always been my companion. Even before I became an Inquisitor.”

For a long while, Ingrid was silent. Quinn, too, said nothing. But soon, Ingrid began to speak again.

“I know that I can’t begin to imagine how frightened you must be. But you have to believe me when I say that I’m here because I want to help you. It’s why I’m taking you to Tristan. It’s why the Order I serve exists: to help Ringbearers like you. To train you, and teach you to control the power you’ve been given.”

Quinn didn’t care why the Order existed. At that moment, all Quinn wanted was to slide that damned ring off his finger, hand it to Ingrid, and go home.

But he couldn’t. There was no place for him in Lamorak now.

“I want to help you, Quinn," she continued. "But you have to help _me_ as well. And the first thing you need to do is trust that everything I do is in your best interest. Can you do that, Quinn? Can you trust me?”

Quinn didn’t answer.

Ingrid placed her hands on Quinn’s shoulders, and turned him, so they were face to face. “ _Can you trust me?_ ”

The stern-faced woman who’d come to him in the tunnel, the same woman who had so effortlessly brought Foreman down, who’d killed without a moment’s hesitation, seemed so far away now. And as Quinn looked up at Ingrid, her eyes full of concern, for an instant, he truly believed her words.

He gave her a faint nod, and with an even fainter voice, he replied. “…I trust you.”

Ingrid gave a small smile. “That’s a good lad.” She stood, pulling Quinn to his feet as well. “Now, there should be a river not too far from here. We can wash up there.”


	3. Prologue III: The Order

****Thankfully, there were no further encounters on the road to Tristan.

Quinn had wanted to remain a while longer, to bury the bodies. But Ingrid refused- they’d suffered too many delays as it was, and in any case, neither of the them had a shovel to dig graves. So, after washing off in the nearby river, and a restless night’s sleep, the two set out, leaving the woods and the bodies behind.

It had been a day and a half since their encounter with the bandits. The sea had disappeared as the road turned north, and rocky hills surrounded the two on both sides. But Quinn was in no mood to take in the sights, as his gaze was fixed firmly on his right hand. A thick layer of clouds blanketed the sky above, as though to compliment his gloomy mood.

The ring went dark quickly after the bandits had been… disposed of. And it had remained dark since then. Still, he’d kept a close eye on it- although it had awakened, as Ingrid put it, when his life was threatened, there was no way of knowing if that was the only thing that could wake it up. But Quinn’s attention wasn’t focused entirely on the ring. His entire hand, from his fingertips down to his wrist, was covered in bandages. As he’d washed himself in the river, he was surprised to find a number of very serious cuts on his hand, the result of crushing that bandit’s sword with his bare hand. As Ingrid wrapped his wound, she’d expressed surprise that, with how deep the cuts were, none of his fingers had been cut off.

“How’s your hand?” Ingrid asked. Ever since leaving the woods, she had begun treating Quinn much differently- speaking in softer tones, leading him by the hand. Quinn realized she was treating him like a child… but for some reason, he didn’t mind that.

He couldn't remember the last time anyone had treated him as a child.

“It’ll be fine," Quinn replied. "I’ve had worse injuries.” He tried to flex his fingers, wincing as burning hot needles stabbed into his hand.

“Even so, we should have that looked at as soon as we reach the Abbey.”

Another day passed. And soon, a familiar scent cane to Quinn’s nose- the salt of the ocean. And on the road ahead, he could see a long grey line that seemed to fill the horizon. As they drew closer, the line grew taller and taller, until Quinn could finally identify it- a wall. An enormous wall that must have been at least twenty peds tall, maybe more. He could only stare- he never imagined people could build something so tall. Set into the wall, at the end of the road just a short distance away, was an enormous arch, with a grille of overlapping metal rods hanging over it. The two passed under it- Quinn hesitantly- and entered a large square.

In the square alone, Quinn saw more people than had ever lived in Lamorak. There was an almost deafening clamor as merchants called to the crowd to advertise their wares, and armored soldiers directed the seemingly endless streams of people. Surrounding the square were buildings of dark brown wood, and grey stone with orange-tiled roofs, packed so closely together that was hardly any space between them. He could only stare at the alien sights before him in a stunned silence.

“Welcome to Tristan,” Ingrid said. “Capital of the Kingdom of Bannon.” She reached for his hand, and held it in her own. “There’s still a ways to go before we reach the Abbey. Stay close, alright?”

Like the child he truly was, he laced his fingers between Ingrid’s and held her hand tightly. “Okay.”

* * *

“You know, I didn’t really think about this before, but… this order you're with. What do you do exactly?” Quinn asked.

For several moments, Ingrid was silent, as though contemplating her response. Eventually, she answered, “The Archonite Order is a group of scholars dedicated to the preservation of knowledge across Aurea. Specifically, we seek out Rings of Power, document their abilities, and select and train their Bearers. Once, the Order also served as mediators for conflicts. But that was many years ago, long before I joined.”

The two had left the crowds and the cramped streets by the city gate behind. People had bumped and pushed relentlessly against Quinn as they pushed through the crowd, but through it all, Ingrid had kept a tight grip on his hand. He was thankful for that- without her to guide him, he would have doubtlessly been swept away by the seemingly endless river of people. And soon, the tightly-packed buildings gave way to manor houses surrounded by gardens, larger, grander, more spread out, and the two shared the ever-widening streets with only a handful of people.

All of a sudden, Ingrid came to a stop, letting go of Quinn’s hand. “We’ve arrived.”

Quinn looked up at the building they’d stopped at, any protests dying away as he stared in a stunned silence. It was… _huge_. From the name “Abbey,” he assumed it would be some small church like the one in Lamorak, but the building was more like a castle than a church. A wall, roughly eighty peds across and ten high, stood on the side they faced, set with small windows at even intervals, topped with tiles of glittering silver. In the center of the wall was a large gate made of dark wood. Rising above the walls was a large building set with an enormous window of stained glass, and behind that, rising even higher, was a towering steeple with a pointed roof of silver tiles. Though the sun was hidden behind the clouds, the white stone of the building seemed to shine with a light of its own.

Ingrid pushed open the gate and entered, with Quinn following. The interior was even more stunning than the exterior- inside the walls, and beyond the covered walkway on the inside was an enormous courtyard, filled with lush green grass, vibrant trees, and flowers of every color imaginable. At the heart was the building with the stained glass Quinn had seen from outside, towering over everything within. Without delay, Ingrid began walking on a small path that led to stained glass building, with Quinn following.

From the side, man wearing a robe of white and silver quickly approached them. “Inquisitor Ingrid, you’ve returned!” he said, walking alongside the two. “I trust your mission was a success?”

“Of course. Where is Mother Agnes?”

“She’s awaiting your return in the audience chamber.”

“Good.” They came to the building with the stained glass window. Without knocking, or pausing for even a moment, Ingrid pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The interior of the hall was just as grand as its exterior suggested. Despite the overcast weather, the hall was lit brightly by the light filtering in through the enormous windows. He couldn’t see it from the outside, but now he could see an image was formed in the stained glass: a strange creature Quinn didn’t recognize, resembling a winged snake, coiled on itself in a figure-eight. The interior walls were grey, and draped with tapestries depicting that same strange creature. Inside were more of those robed people, sweeping the floors, dusting tapestries.

But what drew Quinn's attention was a chair- more of a throne, really- sitting on a small, slightly raised platform on the far side of the hall. There were two people, one seated on the throne, the other standing next to it. The standing person was a woman with long blonde hair that reached down past her waist, but the other… The only term Quinn could use to describe her was… _white_. Like the others he’d seen in the abbey, she wore white robes- pure white, without the silver designs the others had. Her skin too was a ghostly pale, as though she hadn’t been in the sun in years. The only part of her that seemed to have any color at all was her hair, and even then, it was colored a faint, almost invisible shade of silver. Her eyes seemed to be shut tightly, but still, he could feel her gaze fall upon him and Ingrid as the two approached.

Ingrid knelt down a few steps from the platform, removing her cap; Quinn stared at her, before quickly kneeling as well. “Mother Agnes,” Ingrid said, “my mission was a success.”

“So I see,” the woman in white replied. She spoke softly, yet her voice easily filled the massive hall. “And I assume this is the boy you mentioned in your report?”

“That is correct, Mother Agnes.” Ingrid held her hand out toward Quinn. “This is Quinn.”

The woman with long blonde hair let out a disappointed sigh. “Oh. From the name, I assumed you’d be bringing back another girl, Ingrid.” She jumped down from the platform and strode to the two, circling around them. “Hmm… a bit on the plain side, too…”

Quinn looked up at the blonde woman. He was curious about her, but at the same time… he wasn’t quite sure where to look. He hadn’t noticed at first, but her attire left _very_ little to the imagination: a pink swath that he hesitated to call a shirt that left her stomach, shoulders, and collarbone exposed, a pair of shorts that didn’t even even cover her thighs, seemingly more suitable as smallclothes than everyday wear, and a pair of long stockings, one pink, one purple.

“You know, most people consider it rude to stare,” the blonde woman said. Quinn jolted, quickly realizing the woman had stopped circling and was looking right at him. She gave him a hard glare… before she gave a coy smile. “Luckily for you, I’m not most people.” She put her hands behind her head, and… cocked her hips to the side with a wink. “Go ahead. Drink it _all_ in.”

“Ah-Uhh…” Quinn stammered and quickly turned his gaze to the floor, his face hot.

“Come now, don’t be shy. You were staring so intently before,” the woman said. Her tone was strange, as if she were toying with him.

“Master Evangelyne, please,” Ingrid said sternly. “I have a report to give.”

“Oh, let me have my fun, Ingrid. After all, I’ve never had so much fun with a man before.”

The woman in white then said, “Evangelyne, I must agree with Ingrid. Leave us.”

Evangelyne let out a deep sigh, and replied, “Very well.” She began to leave, but as she passed by Quinn, she knelt down and blew gently on his ear, making him shiver. “ _Bye~_ ” The door Quinn and Ingrid entered opened and swung shut.

After a moment, the elder woman said, “I pray you’ll forgive Evangelyne. The discovery of a new Ringbearer, on Bannish soil no less, is exciting news for us all." A pause. "But I’m getting ahead of myself. Introductions are in order.” She rested a hand on her chest, and gave a friendly smile. “My name is Mother Agnes. I lead the Archonite Order, and like you, I bear a Ring of Power.” She held up her right hand- sure enough, on her ring finger was a copper ring with a wide, flat face, with the image of a flame embossed on it. She returned her hand to her side, and then stood.

“Come, Quinn. Let me see your Ring.”

Quinn looked over at Ingrid, uncertain. She nodded, and slowly, Quinn stood, and approached Mother Agnes.

Quinn had though Ingrid had been tall. But Mother Agnes was taller still. In fact, he was certain that Agnes surpassed even Foreman in height. He couldn’t help but hesitate as he approached. She urged him on: “There’s no need to be frightened. I will not harm you.” He stopped in front of her, unsure of what to do. “Let me see your Ring.”

Quinn held out his hand. Without hesitation, Mother Agnes laid her hands on his, and touched his ring, her eyes opening ever so slightly for a moment. Quinn shuddered.

In that brief moment, he could have sworn that Mother Agnes’s eyes were a pure, solid black.

“Hmm. This Ring is… unfamiliar to me.” She looked past him, to Ingrid. “Take him to the archives, Ingrid. Perhaps our records will help us to identify this ring.”

Ingrid stood, and placed her cap on her head. “As you wish, Mother Agnes.”

* * *

“Uh, Miss Ingrid?” Quinn asked. “Who was that blonde lady?”

“That was Master Evangelyne, one of the Order’s Archons,” she replied. “Like you and Mother Agnes, she bears a Ring of Power.”

“There are more of them?” Quinn shuddered slightly. Evangelyne was… much different than anyone else he’d met before. He hoped the others wouldn’t be like her.

“There are three others. At the moment, all three are on assignment abroad, though I expect you’ll meet them eventually.”

“Um, Miss Inquisitor?” a woman in a white and silver robe asked hesitantly.

“Hm?” She looked at the woman. “Oh, my apologies. Now… what was your last question?”

“You were explaining your encounter in the Breuse Forest. You mentioned a partial transformation.”

“Yes. Quinn’s right arm, right shoulder, and a portion of his face were covered in what looked to be black scales. The transformation wasn’t instantaneous though. It took several seconds.”

The robed woman wrote something in a small leather-bound book. “Was there anything else?”

“He had a small horn growing from his forehead, on the right side. And his right eye was glowing, the same color as the ring…”

After meeting Mother Agnes, Ingrid had led Quinn to a vast hall filled with books. As soon she explained herself, the two were set upon by men and women in robes of white and silver. Ingrid was pulled aside, and asked numerous questions about the Ring; Quinn was sat in a chair, while other robed people rifled through large books as they inspected the ring.

A robed woman who knelt at Quinn’s side, examining the ring, looked over her shoulder. “Anything?”

“I’m not finding any matches,” replied another woman. She was seated at a table, rapidly flipping through the pages of a large book. “Honestly, based on Inquisitor Ingrid’s descriptions, the only Ring that comes close would be… the Fire Emblem.”

“Still, if what the Inquisitor said is true, you’d think there’d be _some_ mention of a Ring like this somewhere,” replied yet another robed figure. This one was a man, seated at the table, reading another large tome. “Are we sure it isn’t a fake? We have had those before…”

“No,” Ingrid replied firmly. “I saw its power for myself, and I’m convinced that Quinn’s Ring of Power is genuine. Not to mention, Mother Agnes herself inspected it. If it were fake, she would have seen it.”

Ring of Power… Ingrid had mentioned that before, and so had Mother Agnes. It was obvious from how they spoke that they were important, so, Quinn had to ask:

“These ‘Rings of Power’ you keep mentioning… what are they, exactly?”

The hall fell silent. The robed people looked at Quinn strangely- a few even looked as though they were offended that he’d asked such a question. But, as if to calm them, Ingrid held up her hand, and asked, “What do you know of the history of Aurea, Quinn?”

He was silent.

“…I see. I’ll need to ask Mother Agnes if she can include a proper education as part of your training.” She stood and approached the table the robed man and woman were seated at- with a wave of her hand, they vacated it. After a moment of searching, she picked up a roll of parchment. “Quinn, come over here for a moment.”

Once Quinn reached the table, Ingrid unrolled the parchment and laid it out. Painted on it was a strange image that Quinn had never seen before. “What’s that?” he asked.

“This is a map of Aurea.”

He stared down at the map. It had… markings, like the ones Foreman wrote in his ledger at the end of each month, and after he’d sold off the iron they’d mined to the merchants.

Ingrid looked at him with an odd expression. “…You don’t know how to read, do you?”

He shook his head, slowly. Foreman had decided he had no need to learn that skill.

Ingrid’s face tensed. She pinched the bridge of her nose, and mumbled something.

Quinn stammered, “I… I’m sorry, Miss Ingrid.”

Ingrid opened her eyes. “I’m not upset, Quinn. Not with you, at least.” Her hand returned to her side. “This… complicates things, but I did promise you that I’d answer all of your questions.” She leaned over the map, and began to speak:

“Long ago, Aurea- the continent where we live now- was home to beings of unimaginable power, beings that we call ‘Archons.’ In truth, we don’t know much about the Archons: how they lived, where they came from. To be honest, we’re not even sure what they looked like. But we do know that thousands of years ago, the Archons fought amongst themselves in a war that we call the Dawn War. This war was so devastating, the Archons completely wiped themselves out, and to this day, Aurea still bears scars from their battles.

“But, although the Archons are gone now, they left artifacts behind- the Rings of Power. Sixteen have been documented so far, and each Ring grants its bearer abilities far beyond that of ordinary human potential. Each one is unique, and completely irreplaceable- even with the most powerful magics of today, nobody has ever successfully created a new Ring.” She looked up. “It’s no exaggeration to say that Bearers of the Rings of Power have singlehandedly shaped the course of Aurea’s history.”

Quinn looked down at the black ring on his finger. “And… I have one of those Rings now?”

“You do,” Ingrid replied with a nod.

Quinn fell silent, staring down at the ring. Just like on that day, when he first found it, it seemed to carry a tremendous weight. Far too much for such a little thing, he would think… if he hadn’t seen its capabilities with his own eyes.

“Some Ringbearers find their Ring by chance," Ingrid began, walking slowly around the table. “Other times, it’s seemingly the Ring itself that finds its Bearer.” Ingrid took Quinn’s hand, running her thumb over the Ring. “You may not believe so, Quinn, but _I_ believe that this Ring chose you. That you found this Ring, because you were _meant_ to have it.”

Quinn looked away. “I… I don’t know about that…”

“You might not think you should have this Ring, Quinn. But _I_ do. That’s why I brought you here. If I didn’t, I would’ve left you in Lamorak. Or, cut that Ring off your finger without a moment’s hesitation.” Ingrid gripped his hand tightly, and looked him in the eye. “I can’t say that your path from this day forward will be easy. But I can say is this, Quinn: me, Mother Agnes, everyone in the Order… we will make you into a man worthy of wearing that Ring.” She held his hand tightly in hers. “I promise you.”

Quinn said nothing in reply. He simply looked down at the ring on his finger once again.

But, Ingrid squeezed his hand, making him look her in the eye. “Do you still trust me?”

She’d already asked that question. And he’d already given his answer. But, this time was different. When she’d asked him that question in the forest, he answered yes because he believed he didn’t have a choice, because trusting her was seemingly the only path available. But now, he believed every word she said, not doubting her even for a moment. He _wanted_ to repay her faith in him. He  _wanted_ to become the man she believed that he could be. A strange…  _feeling_ came to Quinn's chest. He didn't know what it was. He… didn't know a lot of things.

But there  _was_ one thing he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Quinn looked Ingrid in the eye, and gave his answer. It was confident, assured, free of any fear and doubt.

“I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Author here. Thank you for reading this far. This story is one of the more ambitious projects I've made, and it's undergone a lot of changes from the original conception to what it is now. I wanted to share aspects of the story, their inspirations, and how they evolved over time with the readers, and I'll be using these author's notes to do just that. I realize that not everyone will be interested in that sort of thing, but I still wanted to share these tidbits of the creative process all the same.


	4. Chapter I: Tol Castell, Part 1

**Viresse 5, 706**

**Three years later…**

 

On the north end of Tristan, facing the sea, was the capital city’s main port, Port Arthur. Once, the port had been its own town, separate from the capital, but as the population grew, and the cities expanded, they eventually merged into one enormous city. Port Arthur is still considered a separate city, with its own mayor, but for all intents and purposes, it became a district of Tristan in everything but name.

Ingrid stood at the end of one of the port’s many docks, her arms clasped behind her back as always. A ship from Hessen was to arrive today, and although she did her best to mask it, a small smile had crept onto her face as she waited.

Mother Agnes had readily agreed to provide Quinn with the education he would need as a member of the Order. And to that end, she decreed that he would be sent to the Arcane College in Corburg, to be mentored by one of the Order’s Archons: Professor Isaac. She remembered how he cried at the gates of the College, begging her not to leave him. But his tears soon vanished when she asked, “Do you trust me?” He did, and when the Professor came, he left her side willingly. Even so, she visited Quinn often, or at least, as often as her duties permitted. She watched him study, and spar with other students, and she would allow him to tell her everything he’d learned while she’d been away, everyone he met, everything he’d done. She smiled as he shared his stories- he was without fear, without worry, as any child should be.

But eventually, her responsibilities pulled her away from visiting. Relations between Burgundy and Hessen, which had never been great to begin with, were beginning to fray. And as Hessen’s ally, Bannon- and by extension, the Order- were obliged to provide aid. Ingrid’s mission had been to infiltrate Burgundian territory, and determine whether the nation was preparing any large scale military maneuvers. The importance of her mission meant that no contact could be made with the outside- including Quinn. And for eight months, she was completely alone, unaware of the goings-on of the outside world. So, it came as quite a surprise when, after returning to Bannon and delivering her assessment, Mother Agnes told her that Quinn was returning to the Abbey. She waited feverishly for the day when his ship was to arrive. And when that day came, she went to the port at dawn’s first light to wait for him.

She was eager to see how much he had grown in their time apart.

Before long, a large ship came to the dock before her. There was a splash as the anchor was dropped, and men leapt from the boat, ropes in hand, and tied them to the dock. A great ramp was lowered from the side of the ship, and a steady stream of people began to disembark.

Ingrid waited, her eyes darting across the crowd, trying to pick out a familiar face. But, it wasn’t there. The crowd began to thin, but still, all the faces were unfamiliar. And after a moment, she was left standing at the end of the dock, alone. She stood still, in disbelief. He… hadn’t missed his boat, had he? No, if that were the case, Professor Isaac would have-

But then, she saw a young man with a white shirt and dark brown hair, hunched over at the very edge of the dock. She approached quickly- as she did, the young man wiped his mouth with his wrist, and stood up straight. In a familiar voice, he mumbled, “You lied, Miss Ingrid.”

“It’s impolite to keep someone waiting, Quinn,” Ingrid said.

Quinn turned in surprise. “M-Miss Ingrid!” he stammered. “I… It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

She took a moment to look him over. His face was almost exactly as she remembered it, still not quite having lost the roundness of youth. It was longer now, but his hair was still a dark tangle of curls, the same color as freshly turned soil. But his eyes were the same- his eyes, colored a strange dark amber color that in all her years of travelling, she’d never seen in another person.

She looked down at his body, noticing his attire. “…what are you wearing?” she asked. His shirt was white, akin to a coat, with short sleeves and short tails, a grey hood fixed to the collar. His pants were black and loose, held in place with a black belt, and he wore black boots. It had been modified to suit his own preferences, but it was apparent that Quinn’s new attire was an attempt to emulate Ingrid’s uniform.

“This?” He looked down at himself, before standing up stiffly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Well, Professor Isaac said that if I’m going to be a member of the Order, I need to be… presentable. I can’t wear the College uniform or my old work clothes forever.”

“I suppose that’s fair enough.” She fell silent as she looked at the boy. Though, she thought, she supposed she couldn’t really call him a “boy” anymore.

Quinn tilted his head in confusion. “…Is something wrong?”

Ingrid shook her head. “Not at all. I’ve… just noticed how tall you’ve become.” Indeed, Quinn was no longer the small boy she’d brought before Mother Agnes. Where he wouldn’t have reached Ingrid’s shoulder three years prior, he was now tall enough to look her in the eye.

“But anyway, we shouldn’t keep Mother Agnes waiting.” Ingrid held out her hand.

Quinn looked at her hand. “Uh, I’m a little too old to be holding your hand, Miss Ingrid,” he said, before taking her hand in his own. “But, it _has_ been a while.”

The two began walking back to the Abbey. As they did, Quinn asked, “Speaking of Mother Agnes, any idea why she summoned me? Professor Isaac wouldn’t say anything, but he made it _sound_ urgent. I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to Gail and Malcolm.”

Ingrid furrowed her brow for a moment. “ _Gail?_ …Oh, yes, the Doric girl.” She gave Quinn a strange look. “I trust you didn’t let her distract you from your studies.”

Quinn’s shoulders slumped. “You could have at least a _little_ faith in me, Miss Ingrid.” He quickly straightened up. “But about the summons…”

She glanced over to him. “I’m afraid I know as much as you do at this point. But if the summons came directly from Mother Agnes herself, then I’m sure she has good a good reason for it.”

It took the two some time to push through the city’s crowds and reach the Abbey. But the building was just as radiant as Quinn remembered, even more so in the splendor of full sunlight. Without delay, they entered the main gate, crossed the courtyard, and entered the audience chamber, where Mother Agnes waited for them, seated in her throne. They knelt, first Ingrid, then Quinn.

“Welcome, Ingrid. And welcome, Quinn.” Mother Agnes said with a smile. As before, her voice was quiet, yet still filled the hall. “It’s been quite some time since you last set foot in the Abbey.”

“It’s good to be back in Bannon, Mother Agnes,” Quinn said. He then bowed his head. “I’ve come to answer your summons.”

Mother Agnes leaned forward, resting her hands on the arms of her throne. “Isaac has kept me informed of your progress, and I am very pleased with your achievements. In just three years, you’ve grown from a boy who couldn’t read, write, or even find his home country on a map to an intelligent, resourceful young man. Although we have yet to determine the powers of your Ring, I have little doubt you will become a fine addition to the Order.”

Quinn looked up, surprised, before bowing his head once more. “That’s… very kind of you to say, Mother Agnes.”

Her smile disappeared. “However, I did not call you back simply to praise you. I believe the time has come to formally declare you as the Order’s newest Archon. But before that, a situation has arisen, which I believe will be a perfect means to test if you are truly ready.”

Mother Agnes stood, slowly pacing around the platform. “Recently, a naval patrol reported sighting Burgundian soldiers occupying the fortress on the island of Tol Castell. This island has been Bannish territory since the Second War of the Ronde some two hundred years ago, and thus their occupation is in direct violation of the Treaty of Palomides which ended that war.”

Mother Agnes stopped. “Your mission is to travel to Tol Castell, and remove the Burgundian garrison, by whatever means you deem necessary. Succeed, and you will have earned the title of Archon.”

All of a sudden, Ingrid stood. “Mother Agnes,” she said. “Surely, you don’t mean to send Quinn _alone?_ ”

Agnes looked up, at the stained glass window. “This matter is of grave concern not only to the Order, but to King Oswald and Parliament as well. As such, the King has personally selected a number of soldiers to aid Quinn in his mission. Furthermore…” Agnes’s gaze turned to Ingrid. “Inquisitor Ingrid, I hereby remove you from my command. From this time forward, you will observe Quinn, and serve him as advisor on my behalf.”

Ingrid opened her mouth, as if to protest, but quickly shut it again, and touched her cap. “…As you command, Mother Agnes.”

“A ship is being prepared for the journey to Tol Castell, and will depart in three days’ time. Take this time to prepare yourself accordingly.” Agnes seated herself in her throne once more. “You may go.”

Quinn bowed his head and stood up. But Ingrid simply stood, her face stern, her hands clasped behind her back. After a moment, she looked to Quinn. “Let’s get you to the armory,” she said stiffly. “You’ll need protection, and a proper weapon.”

For a long while, the two walked through the Abbey’s cloisters in silence. Quinn found Ingrid’s silence troubling- in any other situation, she surely would have been passing on what she knew of the situation. After spending a few moments working up the resolve, Quinn asked, “M-Miss Ingrid? Is everything alright?”

“It’s nothing,” she replied quickly. _Too_ quickly.

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Again, Ingrid was quiet, save for a deep breath. Then, she said, “…I’ve served under Mother Agnes directly for many years now. This will be the first time I’ve not been under her command since… well, since I was inducted into the Order.”

This time, Quinn was the one who was silent. “I… I’m sorry,” he replied, hesitantly. “But, I’m… glad you’re coming with me, Miss Ingrid.” He looked at her. “I was worried when Mother Agnes said this was a test, but if you’re there to help me, I know I can do it.”

Ingrid looked back at him. “I’m only going as an observer, Quinn. I won’t be helping you.”

“That’s fine. Just knowing that you’ll be there with me… it makes me feel better about this.” Quinn smiled broadly.

Ingrid couldn’t help but to give a small smile in return.

“By the way,” Quinn began. “…where exactly _is_ Tol Castell?”

Ingrid’s smile vanished, and she let out a small sigh. It seemed that despite Professor Isaac’s best efforts, the boy still had a great deal to learn. “Tol Castell is a small island about seventy _milia_ west of mainland Bannon. Since the end of the Second War of the Ronde, it’s been used as a marker to designate the boundary between Burgundian and Bannish waters…”

* * *

The day came.

At noon, Quinn and Ingrid left the Abbey for Port Arthur. Their ship proved easy enough to find- the red sails flown by ships of the Vanderijck Trade Guild stood out in any harbor. Ingrid boarded and spoke to the captain to ensure they had the right ship, before returning.

“It looks like the others haven’t arrived yet,” she said.

“What should we do, then?” Quinn asked. “It’s almost time for us to go. We’re not gonna leave without them, are we?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Ingrid answered, looking at something over Quinn’s shoulder. He followed her gaze.

Approaching them on the dock were two men, both leading horses. The man in front was large, wearing dark grey armor that had clearly seen better days, and sported short orange hair and a trimmed orange beard. It was impossible to determine his age just from looking at his sun-beaten face, but his grey eyes were clear, and focused.

The second man, in contrast, was smaller, his face more youthful. Both his eyes and his unruly hair were a dark brown, and his armor was painted with a coat of forest green, marred by innumerable scratches.

As the two men approached, Quinn heard the younger man say, “…a Guild ship. The king must really want this situation taken care of.”

Ingrid suddenly straightened up as the men drew closer. “Captain Uther,” she said, with no small amount of surprise in her voice. “I know the king was lending us soldiers, but you’re the last person I was expecting.”

“Well, my brother has always been a bit too cautious for his own good,” the orange-haired man said, before holding out his hand. “And you are?”

She shook his hand. “I’m Ingrid, Inquisitor for the Archonite Order. This is Quinn, an initiate.”

The orange-haired man, Uther, held out his hand to Quinn. But Quinn wasn’t paying attention. Something that Uther had said stuck with him. “Your _brother?_ ” he mumbled. “But, I thought the king sent you. W-Wait, your brother is the king? Wait, you’re a _prince!?_ ”

Uther erupted with laughter. “Please don’t worry yourself with formalities. After all, I passed on my title- I’m but a humble soldier now.” He knocked a fist against his breastplate. “But, yes. I’m Uther Maybury, Captain of the Guard for Bannon’s army, _and_ King Oswald’s older brother.” He motioned to the man in the green armor. “This is one of my subordinates, Sir Gwin.”

“Hey,” the brown-haired man- Gwin said, with a small wave.

“And Julius…” Uther looked around. “…is _late_ , it seems. That’s rather unlike him.”

“Julius headed out hours ago, Boss,” Gwin said. “He should already be on the ship.”

“There’s only three of you?” Quinn asked. Ingrid was a skilled fighter in her own right, so if she recognized this Uther, he must have been a formidable opponent. But still, clearing out a fortress with just five people…

“Our most recent reports indicate the number of soldiers at Tol Castell is fairly small- no more than five men or so,” Uther replied. “To be honest, I was planning to deal with them by myself, but after the Order’s representative visited, Oswald insisted I take at least a few helping hands.”

“Such confidence,” Ingrid said. “As expected of Bannon’s own Captain of the Guard.”

Uther looked to the ship. “If we’re all here, we shouldn’t tarry any further. It’s best not to keep those hawks from the Guild waiting.”

* * *

Quinn coughed, and spat the last bit of bile in his mouth into the sea. The ship had set sail soon after the group had boarded, and immediately, the queasiness returned to Quinn all at once. His legs trembled from the constant swaying breath his feet, and he had to keep his grip on something solid, for fear of losing his balance. The only consolation was that this journey would be much shorter than the voyage from Hessen- four days, based on the navigator’s estimates. Still, the news did little to calm the churning in his stomach.

Quinn leaned against the railing on the deck, breathing heavily. But then, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, accompanied by a man’s voice: “…temperature is approximately… 72 degrees, unusually high for this time of year. No visible cloudfronts, and visibility… impossible to determine without landmarks.”

Quinn looked over, to see an unfamiliar man in blue robes standing a few feet away. The man had straight hair of light brown that reached his shoulders, and wore a pair of glasses with thin frames. His robes were similar to the robes the priest in Lamorak wore, though this man’s robes were blue and white, rather than yellow, and his hood pulled back. For a moment, the man stood still, his hand extended into the air. Then, he began writing in a small book.

“The tailwind has shifted from west to a southwestern angle,” the man said as he wrote. “If it persists, we may arrive sooner than anticipated, if only by a few hours.” His shoulders slumped slightly, and his hand stopped moving. “It seems my insistence on bringing an extra day’s worth of provisions was based on unfounded apprehensions.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Quinn called hesitantly. “Are you… Julius?”

The long-haired man turned. “Hmm?” He tucked away his book and approached, before staring at Quinn for several moments, completely motionless. Then, he said, “I apologize, but I do not believe that we have met before. So I find it rather unusual that you know my name.” He paused, and flicked his gaze to the side as if thinking for a moment. “Ah, of course. You must be the initiate from the Archonite Order. As ‘Ingrid’ is a female name, I must assume you are Quinn.”

Quinn held out his hand, albeit a bit hesitantly. They’d only just met, but Julius seemed very… strange. “Uh, t-that’s right. I’ve already met Uther and Gwin. So, I'm guessing you must be the last soldier the king sent to help us.”

Julius looked down at Quinn’s hand, but did not take it. “I see. It seems there was a miscommunication. While I may serve a role in Bannon’s military, I am not, in fact, a soldier. Rather, I am a priest. It is my duty to provide medical aid to my comrades.”

Quinn perked up upon hearing that. “Oh! A priest! That’s excellent! We don’t know what’s waiting for us at Tol Castell, so-”

Julius suddenly interrupted: “Preposterous. We know exactly what is waiting for us at our destination.”

For several long seconds, the only sound was the sound of waves, and creaks from the ship. Quinn stared at the priest, unsure of what to say. He was… very direct. But not in the same way that Foreman, or Ingrid were direct. His face was still and expressionless, and he stood completely still, his eyes focused directly on Quinn. The young man couldn’t help but help but wonder if Julius has ever spoken to another person.

After several moments of staring, Julius finally said, “…It seems that I have offended you. I must ask that forgive my gaucherie. I have been made aware on several occasions that my mannerisms make me a somewhat tiring person to interact with. But, I assure you that I will use every skill in my possession to ensure the success of our mission.”

Just then, they heard a muffled voice shout, “Hey! Food’s ready! Get it while it’s hot!”

Julius glanced to the source of the shout. “Ah. It seems Gwin has taken the liberty to prepare a meal for us all. He may not seem so, but he is an exceptional chef.”

“I’ll… be along in just a minute,” Quinn said. The boat was swaying more than usual as it cut through rougher waves. He wasn’t sure he could make it below deck from here.

Julius looked at Quinn for a moment. Then, he reached into a pouch at his side, pulled out a small yellow leaf, and held it out to Quinn. “Here.”

“Huh?” Quinn asked. “What’s-”

But Julius cut Quinn off again: “Chew up this leaf and place it under your tongue for five minutes, but _do not_ swallow it. It should suppress your seasickness for the next six to eight hours, depending on your weight and tolerance.” When Quinn took the leaf, he continued, “Let me know when its effects wear off. I’ll provide you with another dose then.” Julius walked away, without waiting for a reply.

* * *

“You have my commendation, Gwin. It fascinates me how you are able to create such dishes from the most seemingly impalatable ingredients,” Julius said.

Gwin scratched his head, and gave an embarrassed laugh. “Ha ha… well, cooking’s a skill like any other. I just practiced ‘til I got good at it.”

The space beneath the deck was cramped, but was still preferable to the windswept deck above. So, Quinn had joined the others, waiting as Gwin passed around bowls of some kind of stew. Before descending, he had followed Julius’s instructions, and much to his surprise, the strange leaf had indeed gotten rid of his seasickness. And he couldn't lie- he was starving. He hoped the stew tasted every bit as good as it smelled.

Gwin sat down, resting his bowl by his side, and looked to Quinn and Ingrid. “But anyway, I was hoping you guys could tell us a little about yourselves.”

“I must admit, I’m curious as well,” Uther added. “It’s not often that agents from the Order accompany us into the field.”

Quinn didn’t reply. It wasn’t that he was ordered to keep anything he’d done secret. Rather, nobody had ever asked him that question. So he wasn’t sure how to reply to it.

Fortunately, Ingrid picked up his slack: “Quinn has just returned from abroad. He was being trained by one of the Order’s agents at the Arcane College in Corburg.”

“The Arcane College…” Gwin muttered, before looking to Julius. “Hey, Julius. You mentioned a while ago that there was a professor at the College you wanted to meet, right?”

Julius nodded. “That I did. I’m surprised you still remember that, Gwin- I mentioned it some time ago.”

“So, where are you from?” Uther asked. “Somewhere in Bannon, I presume?”

Quinn nodded. “Yeah. Grimhold.”

“I thought as much. For someone so young, you do seem rather… sturdy.”

“Is that right?” Gwin asked. “You don’t meet a lot of soldiers who hail from the Outer Isles in the army. I’m from Dale, myself.”

“You’re from Dale, Gwin?” Julius asked, incredulous. “I would never have guessed, even after all this time. You don’t possess the accent typical of the region.”

“You’re one to talk, Julius,” Uther said with a laugh. “Aren’t _you_ from Morley?”

“My accent was a habit I deliberately chose to rid myself of. Being able to clearly relay instructions is of paramount importance on the battlefield…”

Quinn just watched the others silently, a smile on his face. He couldn’t help but be reminded of his time at the College, of the days he spent with Gail and Malcolm. He’d been… _happy_ , spending time with them.

And he found it somewhat worrying that he couldn’t recall a time when he’d felt such happiness before leaving Grimhold.

“You seem awfully pleased, Quinn,” Ingrid said in a low voice.

“They seem like a lively bunch,” he replied. “They remind me of my time at the College.”

“This is camaraderie,” she said.

He looked over, confused. “Cama… _what?_ ”

“This world is one filled with hardship and challenges. But if you surround yourself with allies you can trust, with friends willing to support you… then you won’t need to bear those burdens alone. Remember that.”

For a moment, Quinn sat silently in thought. He wanted to ask Ingrid a question. It seemed like, such a strange question. But even so, he asked: “Miss Ingrid… are _you_ my friend?”

Ingrid nodded without hesitation. “Of course,” she replied. “No matter what challenges may await you, even if you lose sight of the way forward, I will always be your ally.”

“Well, I know that- we’re both part of the Order. I know you’re my _ally_ .” Quinn looked at Ingrid. “I want to know if you’re my _friend_.”

For a long while, she was silent, and looked away. He stared expectantly, but she didn’t answer. Slowly, he looked away… until Ingrid rested her hand on his own. “…well… _yes_ ,” she finally said. “I suppose I _am_.”

Quinn smiled. “Thanks, Miss Ingrid.”

Quinn then realized that silence had fallen. He looked over, to see Uther, Gwin, and Julius staring back at him and Ingrid expectantly. “…well don’t stop on our account,” Gwin said. “I wanna see where this is going.”

Ingrid’s hand quickly darted out of Quinn’s. “I assure you, whatever you believe the relationship to be between Quinn and myself, I have done nothing untoward.”

"It that so?" Julius asked. "The two of you seem rather close..."

“Quinn is… he… lacked any sort of proper parental figures in Grimhold. As such, I took it upon myself to become a positive influence for him…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Original Concept: The original idea for the story came about after I played Drakengard 3 for the first time, and it shows: originally, the world was ruled by a religious order, the Order of the Six Sisters, who worshiped the titular Sisters as living goddesses (the Sisters themselves being inspired by the Intoners in Drakengard). In the past, the Sisters had battled a great enemy that threatened the world, but all but one were scattered and lost in the aftermath. At the start of the original story, three of the Sisters had been found, with the discovery of the fourth kickstarting the plot. Eventually, I chose to rework the idea into a Fire Emblem story, and thus, a number of elements were scaled back, or removed altogether- rather than the world, the setting was reduced to a single continent, the Order’s power (now called the Archonite Order) was diminished significantly, and the Sisters were replaced by the Archons, who remained firmly in the backstory. But there are still a few remnants from the original concept. An enormous, perfectly circular inland sea- created in the aftermath of the final blow of the ancient war- was retained as a geographical feature. And in the final story, there are six Ringbearers in the Order, just as there were six Sisters in the original story, and six Intoners.
> 
> Quinn: Quinn retained his role of the protagonist from the original story, and is one of only a handful of characters to make the transition into the story’s current form. He was unnamed in the original concept, but retains a number of characteristics from there: he was originally a miner, who kicks off the plot by unearthing something (in the previous story, one of the Sisters; in the new story, a Ring of Power), and is subsequently inducted into a quasi-religious order. When the idea was reworked into a Fire Emblem story, he gained the Avatar archetype. He was finally named Reese, a unisex name, and I literally flipped a coin to determine his gender. He remained male. Eventually, I renamed him Quinn, partly because I liked that name better, but for another reason that becomes relevant much later in the story. Unlike many of the other characters in the story, Quinn wasn’t directly inspired by anyone in particular, though some aspects of his appearance were taken from Jude Mathis of Tales of Xillia. If he had a voice actor, it would be Bryce Papenbrook.
> 
> Ingrid: Ingrid is another character from the original idea that was retained in the transition to a FE-inspired story, though of the characters who were retained, she underwent the most extensive changes. Originally, she was one of the Sisters, found and raised by a society of Amazon-like warriors, and known for her combat prowess. In the final story, she’s an ordinary human, though she still serves the Order, and is still known for her swordsmanship. She also had two different inspirations- originally, she was inspired (at least in appearance) by Musashi from Kantai Collection. Her current iteration takes elements from Esdeath from Akame ga Kill, though with less sadism and cleavage, and more pants. After playing Xenoblade Chronicles 2, some elements from Morag were added as well, mainly in her demeanor, and her default stance of having her hands clasped behind her back. Her name never changed, though it comes from an unlikely source- the Taimanin Asagi character of the same name. Would ideally be voiced by Tara Platt if she had a voice actor.


	5. Chapter II: Tol Castell, Part 2

****Tol Castell was sighted on the fourth day. To call it an island was something of an exaggeration- it was little more than a worn grey stone rising from the sea, with just barely enough space to build on. The ship came upon Tol Castell late, when the sun was just beginning to descend toward the western horizon. At Uther’s request, the captain dropped anchor a distance away from the island, to better assess the situation.

Julius stood at the bow of the ship, watching the island through a spyglass. Uther and the others stood by, waiting for the priest to say something. After a few moments, he lowered the spyglass and looked back. “It seems the reports from the navy were accurate. I counted five soldiers in all.” Julius held out the spyglass. “Have a look for yourself, Captain.”

Uther stepped forward, and for several moments, he too watched the island in silence. “No doubt about it,” he said, lowering the spyglass. “Browns.”

The island had no dock, so the group was forced to clamber into a small boat, and row the rest of the way. As he and Gwin rowed, Quinn asked “So, what should we do? Do we have to fight them?”

“Let me talk to them first,” Uther said. “Bannon and Burgundy rarely see eye-to-eye, but even so, it would be best to resolve this through diplomacy.”

The boat landed on a small beach of black sand on the southern edge of the island. Directly ahead of them was the fortress; on its right, a tall stone spire rose from the center of the isle. On the left, small waves lapped against the fortress’s walls. The fortress itself had no gate separating it from the outside- merely a large, empty arch set into the outer wall. The ground beneath their feet was barren, save for small patches of a strange yellow-green lichen.

Then, he saw them. Within the fortress, peering out from behind the stone walls, were men. They were mostly hidden, and there were only a few, but he could see that they wore light armor of leather atop tunics colored a deep wine red. Quinn glanced over. “Miss Ingrid,” he whispered.

“I see them,” she answered quietly.

Uther stepped forward, away from the group, stopping about fifteen _peds_ from the arch. He stabbed his spear into the ground, and shouted, “Soldiers of Burgundy! I am Uther Maybury, Captain of the Guard of Bannon! Your presence in this garrison is an unlawful incursion upon Bannish territory, as agreed upon by the Treaty of Palomides! By the authority of His Majesty, Oswald IV, you are ordered to leave this fortress immediately!”

His voice echoed across the small isle. But no one moved- the soldiers peering out remained hidden. Warily, Quinn began to reach for the axe hanging from his belt, when one of the soldiers emerged from behind the arch- a thin man, with long black hair. He was gaunt, trembling, with sunken eyes- he looked as though he hadn’t eaten or slept in days. With shaking legs, he approached Uther. “M-My lord,” he stammered. “You… must understand, we didn’t come here by choice. We’re… shipwreck survivors! And this is the only land for _milia_ around! Where in Aurea were we supposed to go!?”

Quinn could see Uther’s hand tighten around the shaft of his lance. “Shipwreck survivors, you say?” the captain asked. “There have been no storms sighted over the Ronde Sea recently. Tell me- what was the name of your vessel? Where did she launch from? What was her destination?”

The soldier stammered. “U-Uh…”

Then…

The world froze.

All at once, the color seemed to drain out of everything. The soldier fell silent, as did the sound of waves on the nearby shore. All became still, and as silent as a tomb.

“Huh?” Quinn’s voice echoed strangely in this silent world. He quickly looked to Ingrid, and tugged on her arm. “M-Miss Ingrid, what’s going on!?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t look at him. In fact, she didn’t move at all. He pushed against her as hard as he could, but Ingrid refused to budge, as if she were a statue. The others were similarly unresponsive.

Quinn looked around. Above him, a bird hung in a grey sky, motionless, as if hanging on an invisible string. In the nearby sea, a wave was frozen mid-swell. Everything was still quiet, with only the echo of his breath. “What… what’s happening?” he asked. He looked down at himself- why was he the only one unaffected? Then, on his hand, he saw a blue light. Three years had passed since he last saw it, but he identified it in an instant.

His Ring… it was glowing.

But at that moment, he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He looked up, to the top of the fort’s wall, where there was something that hadn’t been there before: a soldier, with a bow in his hand. He crouched as he walked, as if trying to avoid being seen. He hid behind a parapet, pulled an arrow from his quiver, and took aim for a moment… before releasing it.

The bowstring whipped the air, and there was a brief _whoosh_ sound as the arrow flew… before it struck Uther right in the forehead. Quinn gasped as Uther fell back, blood streaming from his wound…

And then, the world moved forward again.

Color returned. Uther was on his feet again, unharmed. And the soldier in front of Uther was still stammering, “We were…”

Then, Quinn saw the archer stand up atop the wall. The archer hid behind a parapet, nocked an arrow, and drew back the string…

“ _Ca_ _ptain!_ ” Quinn didn’t wait- he rushed forward, and shoved Uther to the side with all his might.

Uther stumbled- only a few steps, but it was enough. Quinn heard the bowstring whip forward, the arrow flying through the air… and a small snap when the arrow struck the ground, and broke in half. Uther turned, a mix of surprise and anger on his face, but it vanished when he saw the arrow, and then the archer.

For a moment, everyone stood frozen. Then the soldier closest to Uther shouted “Dammit!” and began running back to the fort.

He didn’t make it. Within seconds, Uther readied his spear, and threw it with all his might at the retreating soldier. It pierced through his back with ease, and the soldier fell. He whistled- his horse galloped to his side, and within moments, he mounted his steed. “ _You’ll pay for your deceit with your blood!_ ” he roared. “ _C_ _haaaaaarge!_ ” And with a snap of his reins, Uther rushed into the fort, yanking his spear from the soldier’s corpse as he passed.

“Let’s go, Julius!” Gwin called, and he galloped after Uther, with Julius following in his wake. Quinn didn’t wait, either. He grabbed the axe hanging from his belt, and ran into the fort.

He passed through the arch just in time to see Uther run a red-clad soldier through with his lance, at the far end of the fort. On the right, Gwin circled around a second soldier, looking for an opening, as the soldier kept him at bay with a few short thrusts of his spear. A third soldier emerged from the far left, and began to charge at Gwin from his blind spot.

For a moment, Quinn froze… but it was only for a moment. He wasn’t the boy he had been that day in the woods three years ago. He’d trained for countless hours, suffered bruises and cuts beyond number to ensure that day would never happen again, to repay the debt he owed to Miss Ingrid.

He ran forward, axe in hand, and stopped in the soldier’s path. “Hold it!” he shouted.

The soldier stumbled to a stop- it seemed he was so focused on Gwin he hadn’t noticed Quinn arrive. But without hesitation, he drew back his spear, and thrust it at Quinn. Quinn darted to the side- he was… surprised by how easily he avoided the blow. But now he had the advantage. Before the soldier could pull back his spear, Quinn raised his axe, and chopped through the wooden shaft. The iron head fell to the ground, and the soldier withdrew, looking down at his broken weapon with surprise.

Quinn pointed his axe at the soldier. “Stand down!” he ordered.

But the soldier didn’t stand down. Instead, he pulled back the shaft, preparing for an overhead swing.

He never finished it. A white blur rushed past Quinn, and without a moment of hesitation, Ingrid stabbed her sword into the soldier’s left side. He let out a pained breath, and the shaft fell from his hands, before he too collapsed.

Ingrid looked back at him without a word, a cold expression on her face. But before either of them could say anything, the familiar sound of a bowstring whipping the air came to Quinn’s ear. There was no time to react to it. All he could do was watch as an arrow came down from somewhere behind him, and struck Ingrid’s shoulder. She cried out- her sword fell from her hand, and she dropped to her knee, her right arm swaying limply.

“ _Miss Ingrid!_ ”

Quinn dropped his axe. The Ring on his finger flashed- black scales erupted from beneath his skin, covering his arm. And something that wasn’t Quinn snapped its attention behind it, to the archer atop the wall. With blinding speed, it turned and clambered up the stone wall, leaving deep gouges in its wake. The archer was there- he staggered back, fumbling as he reached for another arrow. But the beast grabbed the man by the neck, before smashing him into a nearby parapet headfirst. He pulled back, and slammed the soldier into the stone again. And again. With each blow, the stone cracked, and the red smear left behind grew larger, and larger. Until with one final blow, the man’s head exploded like an overripe fruit, splattering the wall and the beast with soft chunks of red and white.

The beast stared down at the corpse, growling. But then, he grabbed his wrist, and breathed deeply, trying to remember what Professor Isaac had told him. He tried to clear his mind, to concentrate on imagining himself as he was. The beast’s breathing slowed, and gradually, the light from his Ring began to fade. The scales retracted, the light went out… and Quinn was himself once more.

Quinn stood, clutching his wrist, breathing heavily. It happened again. As hard as Professor Isaac and Ingrid had tried… Ingrid…

_Ingrid…_

“ _I_ _ngrid!_ ” Quinn jumped down and rushed back to Ingrid’s side. “Ingrid are you alright?” he asked, mostly out of reflex. It was obvious she wasn’t- the arrow was still embedded in her shoulder, and a large part of her sleeve was already stained a dark red. He reached out to her, but stopped. What could he do? He wasn’t a healer- despite his and Professor Isaac’s best efforts, his forays into magic had been met with middling success at best.

But before he could say or do anything else, Julius ran toward them. “It will be alright, Quinn. Please step back.” Quinn did. Julius glanced at Ingrid’s injury briefly, before he said, “I can mend this. I won’t lie to you, though- this will be exceptionally painful.”

Ingrid took a few short breaths, and gritted her teeth. “ _Do it._ ”

Julius gave a small nod, before he gripped the shaft of the arrow, and pulled.

Ingrid screamed in pain. It was a sound Quinn had _never_ heard her make. A sound he didn’t think a human being _could_ make. But, Julius pulled out the bloodsoaked arrow, and without delay, he held up a staff to Ingrid’s shoulder. A white light began to shine from the crystal at the top, and Ingrid’s wound… began to close. The skin, and the red flesh beneath began to weave together, as though an invisible needle was sewing them back together. After a moment, the wound was gone, a small dent in Ingrid’s skin the only evidence it had ever existed at all.

Julius let out a breath, and removed his glasses, wiping his face with his sleeve. “There,” he said. “That should hold for now.”

Ingrid brought up her arm, flexing her fingers. But then, Uther shouted, “Everyone, to me!” Julius and Ingrid fell in- after retrieving his axe, Quinn followed.

Once everyone had gathered at the middle of the fort, Uther dismounted. “Alright, we’ve dealt with the first wave, but we need to sweep the fort to make sure we got all of them,” the captain said. “We’ll split into two groups.” He looked at Quinn. “Quinn, come with me. Julius, Gwin, Ingrid, you take that side.” He pointed to the west side of the fort.

“Got it, Boss,” Gwin replied, and his group went to the far side.

Quinn followed Uther to the eastern side. There, a wooden door was set into the wall. “I’ll take the lead,” Uther said. “You watch our flanks.”

Quinn nodded. “Right.” He wasn’t sure what flanks were, but he would be sure to keep watch for any more soldiers. Uther nodded, before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Uther and Quinn moved through the dark interior of the fortress slowly, searching room by room. Quinn gripped his axe tightly, expecting that at any moment, another soldier lying in ambush would spring out at them from the darkness. But, they were alone. The rooms were all empty, save for mountains of dust, cobwebs, and the musk of decayed wood.

They reached the last room- a wide room with a long, decayed table in the middle. It, like the others, was devoid of life. “This room’s empty, too,” Quinn said. “I think we got all of them.” Uther didn’t answer. Quinn looked over. “Captain?”

To this, Uther _did_ reply. But it was something Quinn didn’t at all expect:

“Son… _what the hell was that?_ ”

Quinn choked. He didn’t think anyone other than Ingrid had seen. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, he replied, “It was… my Ring. I have a Ring of Power.” He held up his hand, revealing the black-and-silver ring. Quinn sensed that Uther was like Ingrid- he was the sort of person who would see through any of his lies with ease.

For a long while, Uther said nothing. Eventually though, he said, “…I see. The Order’s request to resolve this matter suddenly makes a great deal more sense.” Uther turned around. “…We should head back. The others should have finished their search by now.”

After a minute, Uther and Quinn left the darker fort’s interior. The sky outside was now stained a deep orange, and the other half of the group was already waiting for them outside the door. “Anything?” Uther asked.

“No, Captain,” Julius replied, adjusting his glasses. “I believe that was all of them.”

“I _did_ find something though, Boss” Gwin said, and held out a small roll of parchment. “You might wanna have a look.”

Uther unrolled the note, and silently read it for several moments. “Mutineers,” he finally said, tucking away the parchment. “We’ll need to pass this on to the Burgundian consulate. Regardless of their crimes, Burgundy has no right to abandon their refuse on our soil.”

“What should we do now, Boss?” Gwin asked.

Uther looked around the fort for a few moments. “Gwin… help me gather the bodies. Julius, gather up anything that we can burn.”

Julius blinked, and looked to Uther. “Captain?”

Uther crossed his arms over his chest. “They may have been our enemy, and they most certainly wouldn’t have extended us the same courtesy, but the least we can do is send them off with _some_ dignity.”

Julius was quiet for a moment, before saying, “Very well. I’ve never had to perform them, but as an ordained priest, I can perform their last rites as well.”

Silence fell as the soldiers went their separate ways, to carry out their assigned tasks. Quinn watched them in silence, until Ingrid stepped forward. “We should give the others a hand,” she said.

Quinn turned his gaze downward, to the body of one of the dead soldiers. “I wish things didn’t have to come to this,” he said sadly.

“Whether it is your allies or your enemies, death is inevitable truth one will encounter on the battlefield” Ingrid said. “It is a hard truth, but the harshest lessons are often the most necessary ones.”

“But-”

Ingrid took hold of Quinn’s shoulders, and turned him, so they were face-to-face. “Earlier, you hesitated. That hesitation could lead to the death of your comrades, perhaps even your own.” Her grip tightened. “Quinn, you _have_ to be prepared to kill your enemy. Showing your enemy mercy does not guarantee that they will show mercy to you.” She tilted her head slightly. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Quinn swallowed, and nodded. “I understand, Miss Ingrid.”

She dropped her gaze slightly. “I know you don’t have the experience that I do. But even so, when you agreed to join the Order, you understood that part of your responsibilities was handling situations like… _this_. It may not be pleasant, but you agreed to it all the same.”

Quinn nodded again. “I know.”

Ingrid was quiet for a long moment, before saying, “I know I shouldn’t say this now. But, it _does_ get easier.” Her hands fell from his shoulders, and she left to help the others.

Quinn understood Ingrid’s words. But even so, these soldiers were human beings. They weren’t just obstacles to be surmounted, but people, with loved ones, things that they wanted to achieve, or to protect. He understood that both he and an enemy couldn’t both get what they wanted. But even so, taking another’s life… was not something that _should_ be easy, Quinn thought. After all, if he no longer saw his enemies as human, as nothing more than objects stopping him from getting what he wanted… then, couldn’t he see his allies the same way? As nothing more than tools, to be used to achieve his goals?

And if he didn’t see the value in others’ lives, beyond how they could benefit or harm him…

Then what separated him from a man like Foreman?

 _It_ does _get easier._ Ingrid’s words echoed in Quinn’s mind. He clenched his fist, and replied darkly, mostly to himself:

“…It shouldn’t.”

* * *

 

Night soon fell. The Guild ship remained anchored just offshore, the navigator unwilling to set sail in the darkness. So, Quinn and the others chose to camp in the fortress.

Quinn climbed up the steps leading to the top of the fortress’s outer wall. The light from their fire, and the few torches they’d managed to gather, did little to drive back the darkness, and Quinn took his steps with care. The air was still thick with the scent of burned fat and skin. Above, the black sky was dotted with the faint light of innumerable stars.

Waiting atop the fortress wall was Ingrid, looking out over the dark sea. She’d removed her cap, and undone the tight bun hidden beneath- her hair was longer than he’d expected, reaching midway down her back. She’d removed her coat, too, revealing the black, long-sleeved shirt she wore beneath. It was so strange to see her out of uniform, if only partly- in all the time Quinn had known her, he couldn’t think of any instances where he had before now.

Ingrid glanced over, but only for a moment. “Did you need something, Quinn?”

Quinn leaned on the wall, next to Ingrid. “Can I ask you something? It’s… something I wanted to ask you for a while now.”

“Certainly. As long as it isn’t too personal a question.”

Quinn paused for a moment. “Well, it’s about your name.”

Ingrid looked at Quinn, furrowing her brow. “My… _name?_ ”

“Well, yeah,” Quinn replied, nodding. “It’s much different from the names of most of the people I’ve met. It doesn’t sound Bannish at all.”

“That’s because it isn’t.” She looked out over the wall, to the dark sea. “I’m originally from Hessen. I was trained in the Order’s branch headquarters in Corburg, before Mother Agnes personally selected me to serve as her Inquisitor.”

“Huh? There’s a Corburg branch?” he asked. “But, Professor Isaac said the Order didn’t have any branches outside of Bannon anymore.”

“The Hessian branch is the last. At its peak, the Order had strongholds in every nation in Aurea. But after Kherson attacked the stronghold in Sythia, Fort Felhold, the Order dissolved most of the other branches and transferred their personnel and resources to the Abbey in Tristan.”

Quinn touched his chin in thought. “Professor Isaac never said anything about that…”

Ingrid looked over. “I’m rather surprised to hear that. I was under the impression Master Isaac gave you a comprehensive education.” She narrowed her eyes. “I do hope you weren’t squandering the opportunity Mother Agnes gave you.”

Quinn flinched beneath Ingrid’s cold gaze. “I-I wasn’t…”

“Oh really?” She turned to him, arms clasped behind her back, expression stern. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I tested your knowledge.”

Quinn stammered, “U-Uh, I- well, that’s…” He shrank. “Please have mercy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uther- Uther is one of the many characters that was created after the original story concept was reworked into its current iteration. Uther was originally inspired by Uther Pendragon of Arthurian mythology, and his appearance was inspired by another Uther, from the Warcraft series. Although he's royalty, he doesn't fit the traditional role of Lord for the story- in fact, no characters fits into that archetype. Rather, he would be the obligatory crutch character, being first inspired by Frederick from Awakening (and by extension, his inspiration, Oifey). Would be voiced by Jamieson Price if he had a voice actor.
> 
> Gwin- A lot of the characters in the story, especially those created after the story's revision into an FE story, were made to fill roles analogous to those held by the cast of Fire Emblem Awakening, the first FE game I really played. And Gwin is one of those characters. Gwin takes inspiration from Stahl , mainly in his easygoing personality, and his cooking skills, though he takes his name and a few elements of his appearance from Gwin of Xenoblade Chronicles X (a lot of characters take inspiration in some form from characters from the Xenoblade games, so get used to seeing that name a lot). Like Stahl, he's the Abel analogue, though unlike many Cain-Abel pairs, the Cain-Abel pairing in this story are actual siblings- Gwin is the younger sibling, in this case. Would be voiced by Sam Riegel if he were voiced.  
> As a sidenote, the awkwardness of Quinn and Gwin having names that rhyme was unintentional. Gwin was made when Quinn still had the name "Reese."
> 
> Julius- Julius was one of the first characters to be created after the story was reworked into a Fire Emblem story. Julius was also the first character who was inspired by another Fire Emblem character- in his case, he takes his inspiration from Miriel from Awakening, being a very articulate magic-user who has difficulties connecting to his comrades. He also has a few superficial similarities to Jade Curtiss from Tales of the Abyss, mainly in his appearance. Julius was also the beginning of a trend in the story- whereas most healers throughout the FE games are typically female, all the named healers that appear in the story are male. In terms of archetypes, although he's the first healer, he doesn't really fit the archetypes left by Wrys or Lena. Ideally would be voiced by Kirk Thornton.  
> Incidentally, he has no connection with the character from Genealogy of the Holy War, who was also named Julius.
> 
> Bannon- The home nation for the first group of protagonist, and thus the story's "good" nation. Analogous to Great Britain, it's the only nation in Aurea not named after a historical kingdom or region of Europe. It has an animosity with the France analogue, Burgundy, and most of the major settlements in both Bannon and Burgundy are named after various figures in Aurthurian mythology- this was actually unintentional, but after noticing it, I decided to run with it. Has nothing to do with Steve Bannon. I just liked how the name sounded.
> 
> The Calendar- The world Aurea is set on has a much different calendar than Earth. There are only 354 days per year, spread over 10 months, and only six days per week. The months are as follows, with the number of days in each month: Narwain (32), Echuir (33), Viresse (36), Lithe (34), Enderi (40), Mede (37), Halimath (35), Ivanneth (36), Narbeleth (36), and Ringa (35). The days of the week are Minyare, Tatyare, Nelyare, Canteare, Lemenyare, and Enqueare.


	6. Chapter III: The Archons

**Chapter III: The Archons**

 

The return trip to Tristan from Tol Castell felt much shorter to Quinn than the journey _to_ the small island. He spent those four days mulling over Ingrid’s words, his stomach churning, but for once, it _wasn’t_ because of seasickness.

In the evening on the fourth day, the ship dropped anchor in Port Arthur. After disembarking, Uther turned to Quinn and Ingrid, and said, “ _This_ is where we must part ways, I’m afraid. I’ll need to report what happened to my brother. And I imagine you won’t want to keep your own superiors waiting.”

“Indeed not,” Ingrid replied.

“U-Um,” Quinn stammered. “Thank you for helping us, Captain Uther.” He stepped forward, and extended his hand. “I hope we can work together in the future.”

Uther grasped Quinn’s hand and shook it firmly. “It was no trouble at all. And I hope our paths cross again as well.” He then turned, and began walking toward the city.

“We’ll be seeing you, I hope,” Gwin said, before following Uther.

Julius approached Quinn, and gave him a note. “These are instructions on the proper administration of Sailor’s Friend- the flower I’ve been giving you to suppress your seasickness,” he said. “Be sure to keep a stock of them on hand if you plan to travel abroad any time soon.” And then he walked away without another word.

“Uh, right,” Quinn replied, pocketing the note. “Um, Miss Ingrid?” he then asked. “Do you… think we’ll ever get to work with them again?”

“Who can say?” she answered. “I usually work alone, but it is possible our paths will cross again.” She then began to walk away. “Now come along. We have our own report to give.” She began to head to the city as well, and Quinn raced to catch up.

The streets were mostly empty at this hour, so the two reached the Abbey relatively quickly. In the audience chamber, as she and Quinn knelt, Ingrid reported the events that had taken place on their mission.

Ingrid bowed her head. “…that concludes my report.”

“I see,” Mother Agnes replied. She leaned forward in her throne slightly, and asked, “Quinn, is there anything _you_ would like to add to Ingrid’s report?”

For several moments, Quinn was silent. He pondered whether or not he should share the strange… _vision_ he had seen. But in the end, he bowed his head, and replied, “No, Mother Agnes.”

“Very well,” Mother Agnes looked to Ingrid. “I believe my instructions to you regarding your role in this mission were very clear, Ingrid.” Ingrid flinched slightly… but Agnes leaned back in her seat. “…Still, the matter has been resolved. The Burgundian force has been removed. You have passed my test, Quinn.”

Quinn looked up at Mother Agnes. “So… what happens now?”

“Now? In a few days, a ceremony will be held at Tristan Castle, where you will be formally recognized and welcomed into the Order as a full-fledged Archon. After that, you will begin your duties to the Order in earnest. But until then…” She smiled. “…you should rest. You’ve more than earned it.”

He bowed his head once more. “Thank you, Mother Agnes.”

Mother Agnes then stood. “I will be departing to the castle to discuss preparations for the ceremony. Ingrid, I would like for you to accompany me.”

Ingrid practically leapt to her feet, and Quinn could see the smile on her face. “As you command, Mother Agnes.”

* * *

 Two days passed. In that time, Ingrid and Mother Agnes did not return to the Abbey. Quinn did his best to occupy himself, training in the Abbey’s courtyard, reading books in the library, but everything he did felt so… empty. Before, he could rely on Ingrid or Professor Isaac to tell him what to do, and before _that_ , his role in the mine was clearly defined. But now, for the first time in his life… Quinn didn’t know what to do with himself.

On this day, he was in the mess hall, prodding at the food on his plate- poached fish of some type. After a few bites, he couldn’t bring himself to eat anymore. There wasn’t anything _wrong_ with the meal, but when compared to the food Gwin had made, Quinn couldn’t help but feel as though something was… missing.

But at that moment, a voice spoke from Quinn’s right side: “My, my. Ingrid certainly didn’t say anything about _this_ in her reports.” The voice was familiar. And very, very close. Quinn looked to its source.

A pair of green eyes were staring intently into his own, just a few _unicas_ away.

Quinn pushed himself back, stammering, “E-E-Evangelyne!?”

Evangelyne gave a wry smile. “You’ve gotten much more handsome than I remember,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Keep it up, and I just might have to run you out of Tristan.”

Quinn shifted in his seat, unsure of what to make of the blonde woman’s comment. “Uh…”

“Oh, but, where are my manners? I just realized that after all this time, I never properly introduced myself.” She put her hand on her chest. “I’m Evangelyne. Think of me as Mother Agnes’s right hand.”

“Right hand?” Quinn asked. “I… thought that was Miss Ingrid’s job.”

Evangelyne scowled slightly. “Ingrid? _Really?_ I’ve known Mother Agnes for a long time. _Much_ longer than Ingrid. And Ingrid would be more of a left hand, anyway.”

“Uh, sure…” Quinn replied, once again unsure how to respond. But looking past Evangelyne, he noticed something unusual: three women seated at a nearby table. They didn’t look like Order initiates, as they didn’t wear the standard white-and-silver robes. In fact, Quinn could feel his face begin to burn as he looked- the women’s clothing was… rather-

“What’cha lookin’ at?” Evangelyne asked.

Quinn jumped. “ _Huh!?_ ” Only now did he realize that he’d been… staring.

Evangelyne quickly followed his gaze. “…Oh, I see now,” she said knowingly, and jumped out of her seat. “Girls, over here, please.”

The three women left their table and got closer, standing at attention a short distance away. Evangelyne circled around them, saying, “You’ve been away, so I forgot you haven’t had a chance to meet them yet. These are my retainers: Rune, Prim, and Zara.”

Quinn looked at each woman in turn, starting on the left. The first woman had short red hair and a small black mask that covered her eyes. Though as soon as he laid eyes on her, Quinn quickly turned away his gaze- she wore a white dress with long sleeves that exposed her legs and a _not_ insignificant portion of her rather… _large_ chest. Not that the other two women were any more modestly dressed. The woman in the middle, her pink hair woven into a long braid and her skin a shade darker than the other two, wore a black bandeau and a long black sweeping cloth around her waist that exposed one of her legs- she looked like a dancer of some kind, Quinn thought. The woman on the right- a taller woman with black hair woven into two short braids- wore a black garment that clung tightly to her entire body, leaving nothing to the imagination, save for her nose and mouth, which were covered by an opaque black veil.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” Evangelyne asked, with a boastful tone. The redheaded woman flinched slightly, when the blonde girl slowly ran her hand along her waist, before embracing her. “Honestly, it surprises _me_ that I get any work done with such fine specimens on hand,” the blonde continued, resting her head against the redheaded woman’s side.

Quinn tried to take a second look but quickly averted his gaze again. Evangelyne’s retainers were… well, “ _stunning_ ” was the only word that came to mind. It wasn’t that Quinn hadn’t met beautiful women before, but these three… “beautiful” seemed entirely inadequate. If there _were_ words that could describe them, they were unknown to him. “Uh, yeah,” Quinn said nervously. “They uh, they’re… _something_ , all right.”

But then, Evangelyne returned to Quinn’s side, laid a hand on his shoulder, and pulled him in close. “ _But_ **_don’t_ ** _get any ideas_ ,” she said. Her voice was low, her tone, dark. “ _These are_ **_my_ ** _retainers, not yours. And I’ll kill you if you so much as lay a finger on any one of them._ ” She pulled away, a friendly smile appearing once more. “Once you become an Archon, you’ll have the right to take _anyone_ as a retainer. You really should consider it- the Order is _always_ in need of talented individuals, after all.”

Quinn didn’t respond. How could he? The shift in Evangelyne’s tone was so extreme, it was almost as if he’d been talking to two completely different people.

But before he could mull on that any further, the doors of the mess hall slammed open, and a young woman’s voice called out, “ ** _QUINN!_ ** ”

Quinn had just enough time to look up to the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and see a brief flash of flowing golden hair, before he was tackled out of his seat and onto the floor. He hit the ground, hard, and a loud _pop_ sounded from his elbow. “ _Ow! Ow ow!_ ”

“Quinn!? Oh my gosh, I’m sorry!” the mass on top of him cried out, as it moved aside. “I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Quinn stood up and flexed his fingers, wincing as needles stabbed up and down his forearm. There was only one person he knew who could be so brazen. “Ow… Gail, you promised you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“Heh heh, sorry, sorry,” Gail said, as she got to her feet. “I was so happy to hear we were going to visit you. You left so suddenly, I was worried I’d never get to see you again!” She shifted back and forth slightly. “You look great, by the way. Did you get taller again?”

“Did I?” he asked, brushing off his clothes. “I didn’t notice.”

He looked down at the girl standing in front of him: the second of Professor Isaac’s students, Gail. From their first meeting, Quinn knew she was unlike anyone he’d ever met before- she smiled more than he thought a person could ever _could_ smile. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing that drew his eye. Her skin was much… _darker_ than anyone he’d ever met before.

“By the way,” Quinn began. “What’s the occasion?”

“Huh?” Gail said in confusion.

“You’re wearing the College uniform. You _never_ wear your uniform.” Indeed, Gail was wearing a thin grey coat and black pants- normally, the girls’ uniform required a skirt, but Gail refused to wear one. The only two additions that were out of place were a black and gold band holding back her hair, and a black scarf tied around her neck.

Evangelyne’s eyes widened as soon as her gaze fell on Gail, before a knowing smile formed on her lips. “Ohhh…” She approached, and circled around the younger girl, tracing her finger along her waist. “And just who might you be?”

Gail’s mouth fell open, and a bright blush appeared on her face. “Uh- um…”

“Now now, Evangelyne,” a man’s voice said sternly. “That’s one of mine.”

Entering the mess hall was a tall man with narrow eyes and sharp facial features, dressed in dark pants and a fine vest of dark blue atop a white shirt with long sleeves. His hair was cropped incredibly short, much more so than when Quinn had last seen him- no doubt the result of another in-class accident. Perched on his nose was a pair of round glasses that made his dark eyes seem much smaller than they actually were. Around the middle finger of his left hand was a ring- it had a band of gold, and was set with a brilliant clear gemstone that seemed to sparkle with every color of the rainbow. Quinn knew this man well: Isaac, Professor of the Arcane College, Archon of the Order, and bearer of the Ring of Power, Bifrost. And, until recently, his teacher.

Following behind him was another young man wearing a similar outfit, with the addition of a dark long-sleeved coat. He was extraordinarily plain in appearance- brown eyes, slightly spiked brown hair, neither too tall nor too short, and with facial features that were neither too subdued nor too pronounced. If Quinn hadn’t studied alongside the young man for three years, he would have believed him to have been a commoner who had somehow found his way into the Abbey. This young man was the first of Professor Isaac’s students: Malcolm.

Evangelyne clasped her hands over her chest, smiling broadly. “Isaac! You should have told me you had such a lovely lady-in-waiting! I would’ve come to visit more often.”

“The last thing the College needs is you stealing away _another_ faculty member, Evangelyne.” Isaac crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, Mother Agnes banned you from leaving the Abbey without permission.”

Evangelyne sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Oh Isaac, you know exactly what to say to suck all the fun out of a room. Ah well.” She turned to the door. “Come along, girls. We’ll just have to make our own fun somewhere else.”

None of the three retainers said anything, but they all followed Evangelyne out of the mess hall. Quinn couldn’t help that their faces seemed strangely… _stiff_ as they passed.

The young man then turned his attention to the two newest arrivals. “Professor, Malcolm…” he began. “I… didn’t know you were here, too.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s a tradition for Archons to bear witness as a new member is inducted into the fold.” Isaac looked to the side, to his other students. “Gail, Malcolm, I apologize, but I’d like to speak with Quinn alone. It a matter pertaining to the Order.”

“What!?” Gail cried. “But we just got here! Can’t it wait? I wanted to spend more time with-”

“Gail.” Isaac said sternly.

The blonde girl looked at the professor, surprised, before she hung her head sullenly. “…yes, Professor.”

Malcolm quickly stepped forward, resting her hand on Gail’s shoulder. “Come on, Gail. Let’s have a look around. The Professor was always talking about the Abbey, remember? We can hang out with Quinn when they’re done.”

“…Okay,” Gail replied listlessly, before letting Malcolm lead her away.

When his fellow students were out of sight, Quinn asked the professor, “So, what could be so urgent that it can’t wait?”

“I was hoping to introduce you to the other Archons. You’ve already met Agnes and Evangelyne- and myself, of course- but there are five in all at present. It’s quite rare for all the Archons to be gathered together like this, so I wanted to take advantage of it.”

“Oh.” He recalled that Ingrid had said something similar when he’d first been brought to the Abbey. He also remembered dreading meeting the other Archons, after his initial encounter with Evangelyne. “Well, if we’re gonna be working together, I guess I _should_ introduce myself.”

“That’s the spirit. Come now- I’m fairly sure both are still in the library.” Isaac took the lead, guiding Quinn out of the mess hall and in the cloister surrounding the Abbey’s main courtyard. But almost immediately, they ran into something unexpected.

A man. An… _enormous_ man. Easily the largest man- the tallest person- Quinn had ever seen. Even Foreman and Mother Agnes would’ve come up short. He didn’t wear a shirt, only a pair of torn grey shorts, exposing his incredibly muscular chest and arms. His eyes were completely hidden by a messy tangle of curly red hair, and his skin was dark, like Gail’s.

The man stopped for a moment, looking down at Isaac and Quinn. “Hmph.” He continued on, without a second glance. With his back turned, Quinn could see a pair of crossed axes hanging across his back, their blades glinting in the light.

Quinn looked on as the man walked away. “…who was that?” he asked.

Isaac adjusted his glasses. “That was Orion. One of the other Archons I was hoping to introduce you to. He may not look it, but as the bearer of Coronis, he may the most important member of the Order after Mother Agnes herself.”

Coronis… Quinn didn’t recognize the name. He’d need to ask Ingrid about it later. “Doesn’t seem very friendly…”

“He’s never been one for words. Now, as for the last of your companions…” Isaac led Quinn to the library. The interior was quiet, though among the robe-clad attendants, there was an aberration: a young girl, who couldn’t have been any older than Quinn had been when he first came to the Abbey, was seated at a table across from an initiate. She had bright blue eyes, and short blonde hair, save for a thick strand almost like a ponytail pulled back on the left side of her head, and wore a sleeveless flowing white dress, with a thin golden trim along the edge. Set between the two of them on the table was some type of board game.

Leaning against a nearby bookcase watching the two was a man with long, straight hair colored a dark blue. He wore dark pants, a dark shirt that clung tightly to his chest, and a long brown coat held in place by a belt around his waist, the upper half hanging limply behind him. Peculiarly, he wore a black mask that covered the upper half of his face, with two small horns protruding from the forehead. A long sword with a small, but noticeable curve in the blade hung across his back.

“Yonah,” Isaac began.

The blonde girl- Yonah didn’t say anything. She simply held up her finger to Quinn and Isaac. She then picked up one of the pieces on the board and set it a few squares forward. The man seated across from her jolted, looked down at the board for several moments, before letting out a defeated sigh, slumping down in his seat.

“Sorry,” the blonde girl said. “I just saw the winning move.” She looked up. “So, what did you need, Ivar?”

Isaac didn’t react to being called the wrong name. Rather, he said, “I wanted to introduce you to someone,” and motioned to Quinn. “This is Quinn. I’ve told you about him a few times.”

Yonah looked at Quinn, tapping her fingers against her temple. “Quinn, Quinn… I don’t remember that name. Was he one of your students?”

Isaac adjusted his glasses. “Well, yes, he was. But more importantly, he’s to be the Order’s newest Archon.”

Yonah furrowed her brow. “Really? I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered that.” She blinked “Oh yeah, Mother Arya sent me a letter. Is that what that was about?”

The conversation between Isaac and Yonah trailed off as Quinn turned his attention to the masked swordsman. The swordsman in turn regarded Quinn in silence. But after a few moments, he asked, “Did you need something?”

“Are you… a retainer, too?” Quinn asked.

The swordsman finally looked away. “I am a blade in service to Lady Yonah,” he said. “That is _all_ you need to know about me.”

“Espada, be nice,” Yonah said. “Corrin was just asking a question.”

“I’m not…” Quinn began, before trailing off.

“Hey, Ike,” Yonah said. “Can you play with me? The people here aren’t very good at scacchi.”

“I’m afraid not. But I imagine Malcolm would be more than happy to.” Isaac paused briefly. “Right, you haven’t met him, either. I’ll introduce you two later.”

The girl smiled. “Thanks, Ion.”

“Well, I suppose that takes care of that. Now, I’d like to speak with _you_ , Quinn. Come along.” Isaac left the library, with Quinn following close behind.

In the cloister, Isaac continued, “Now don’t worry, this has nothing to do with your studies- rather, I was curious about how you were setting into the Order.”

Quinn didn’t hear the professor’s words, however. He could only think of that strange girl who couldn't remember a name someone had just told her. He asked out loud, “What’s wrong with her?”

“‘Wrong?’ With Yonah?” Isaac asked in response.

“Well, yeah. She seems kind of…” Quinn sighed. “…do I have to say it out loud?”

“You’re referring to her… memory troubles I take it,” Isaac said. He touched his hand to his chin. “I will admit, I had my misgivings at first as well. But she’s proven herself to be quite reliable. Her knowledge of magic may very well surpass my own, and if her skill in scacchi is any indication, she may prove a brilliant strategist. She may not remember names or faces, but she remembers what’s important well enough.” The professor then looked to Quinn. “And what about you? Are you comfortable here?”

“Yeah, I’m doing just fine,” Quinn replied. “But Professor… what, uh… what happened to your hair?”

“Oh, that.” Isaac let out an embarrassed chuckle. “Well, before you ask, Gail had nothing to do with it. Rather, I was using a crucible to purify a few ingredients before a lecture. I neglected to let the substance cool sufficiently before uncovering it, and… well, you can see the result…”

* * *

 Another day passed. Ingrid and Mother Agnes had yet to return. Thankfully, Gail and Malcolm were able to distract Quinn from their absence. On this morning however, Gail was still asleep, and Malcolm was playing another game with the girl the Professor had introduced him to the day before- Yonah. So, Quinn chose to venture outside the Abbey, wandering slowly up the road. Far ahead, at the peak of the gently sloping hill he stood on, he could see the walls and keep of a great castle. Ingrid and Agnes were there, he assumed. But, he didn’t venture that far. Rather, he leaned against the side of a short wall on the side of the road not far from the Abbey, and looked out over the ocean. It was dark, grey as slate, the sky above blanketed by a layer of clouds.

As he stared out over the sea, he allowed his mind to wander. He thought about his place in the Order.

About the future.

About Ingrid, and everything she had said.

But gradually, his thoughts turned somewhere they hadn’t in quite some time: to Grimhold.

It wasn’t as though Quinn missed the life he’d left behind. He hadn’t been there for as long, but the College, and the Abbey felt more like a home to him than the mine or Foreman’s house ever had. Still, it had been three years- a lot could have happened. He wondered who had finally left the mine, and about the people who had come to replace them. He wondered if Lionel had ever recovered enough to go back to work. He wondered if they had found someone who was as good at finding veins as he was.

He wondered if Ingrid’s words echoed in Foreman’s mind, they way they did in his own.

“A fine view, isn’t it?” a man suddenly asked from behind. “Even on _this_ dreary day.”

Quinn looked back, to see a man with orange hair, perhaps only a few years older than him, standing behind him. He was peculiarly dressed- a red long-sleeved coat, embroidered with thin vines of gold, with white pants.

“I’d hoped I could keep my spot a secret,” he continued, walking up to the wall. “But then again, I suppose it’s not much of a secret if it’s along the side of the road, is it?”

“ _Your_ spot?” Quinn asked.

“Yes. I come here often to watch the sea. Seeing it when it’s calm like this… it puts my mind at ease as well.” The man rested his arms on the wall, and leaned forward. “If I may be so bold, may I ask what you were thinking about?”

It was a strange thing to ask someone who he’d just met, but even so, Quinn felt no reason to refuse an answer to the stranger’s question: “I was thinking about Grimhold.”

“Grimhold?” the man asked. “Is that your home?”

Quinn lowered his gaze. “I wouldn’t say that,” he replied with a low voice. “Grimhold is where I was raised, but… I can’t really call it home.”

“Then… where _would_ home be for you?” the man asked. “The Order’s Abbey? Or, perhaps the College in Corburg?”

Quinn looked over, a strange hollowness in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt since he’d first met Ingrid. His fist tightened- he was unarmed, but if nothing else, he should be at least be able to stop the man from following him. “How do you know about that?”

The man looked over. “I know quite a lot about you, Quinn. Even before you met my brother.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed. “Your brother?”

Then all at once, everything fell into place.

Quinn gasped, any hostile thoughts instantly evaporating. “Then, you must be… _Oswald_ … right?”

The man smiled, and looked out over the ocean once more. “It’s a pleasure to meet the Order’s newest Archon face-to-face.”

Quinn could only stare at Oswald in surprise. But, as he looked at the man, he could see a resemblance to Uther- his hair, though longer, was the same shade of orange, and he had the same grey eyes, the same strong jaw. Still, he could hardly believe it. Sure, he had attire and a bearing fit for a king. But he seemed so… young.

Then all at once, the sound of rapid footsteps came to their ears. “Your Majesty!”

Oswald let out an exasperated sigh. “Figures he would’ve found me before long.”

A much older man with white hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a black suit stumbled to a halt in front of the two, hunched over and breathing heavily, followed by a number of soldiers clad in blue. After a few breaths, the white haired man collected himself and stood upright. “Your Majesty,” he said, “You’ve been told countless times not to wander about unaccompanied! If nothing else, at least bring your escort.” The man turned his attention to Quinn. “Who is this rabble?”

In the corner of his eye, Quinn saw Oswald’s expression harden. “This _rabble_ , as you call him, is Quinn,” the king said sternly. “The initiate from the Archonite Order who saved my brother’s life at Tol Castell. Whose induction into the Order we will be hosting at the castle.”

The older man gave Quinn a look- he said nothing for a moment, but his expression made it clear that he was not impressed by the younger man. “I see,” he finally uttered.

“Well, I suppose our chat has come to an end, Quinn,” Oswald said glancing over. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we can do so again in the future.”

“Uh, sure. Right.” Quinn didn’t know what else to say. The shock of meeting a king hadn’t quite worn off.

Oswald turned to face the white-haired man. “Now Rowan, I believe you mentioned something about a proposal before I stepped out.”

The man began leading Oswald away, saying, “Yes, Sire. We’ve received a proposal for an alliance from Duke Ulrich of Livonia. In return pledging to support the Confederation against Kherson, he offers you the hand of his granddaughter, Alisa- who, may I remind you, currently bears…”

The conversation faded as the entourage walked away, leaving Quinn to stare dumbfounded in their wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mother Agnes- Mother Agnes is one of the holdover characters from the story's original concept. What sets Agnes apart from the others, however, is the fact that she underwent virtually no alterations in the story's transition to a FE-based one. She retained her original appearance, her demeanor, her role in the story, and even her title of "Mother." She also stands out in that she's one of only a handful of characters, particularly female characters, who have no clear inspiration. In terms of archetypes, the closest equivalent would be the Malledus. Would ideally be voiced by Jen Taylor.
> 
> Evangelyne- Evangelyne is another holdover from the original concept, and like Mother Agnes, underwent minimal changes when she the story was reworked. She remained Agnes's closest and oldest ally, with three beautiful women as her retainers and a penchant for flirting with any woman who caught her fancy. Unlike Agnes though, her inspiration (at least in appearance) can be traced to a single character- Magilou from Tales of Berseria. She originally had no interest in Quinn whatsoever, but I decided to have her be more flirtatious with him, solely to make him uncomfortable. If she had a voice actor, it would most likely be Laura Bailey.
> 
> Archons (Archonite Order): As previously mentioned, the Archons replaced the Six Sisters from the original story concept, and were inspired by the six Intoners from Drakengard 3. The Sisters, as their name suggests, were all female, though after the story's revision, I decided to give the Archons a more even split between male and female members. As a sidenote, the trend of each Archon other than Quinn having a name that started with a vowel was unintentional at first, but after I noticed it after creating Isaac, I decided to keep it going. Yonah is the only exception as I couldn't find a girl's name that I liked that started with U.


	7. Chapter IV: Initiation

**Viresse 19, 706**

Loud knocking jolted Quinn awake. His room was dark, and no light could be seen in the window by his bed. After taking a few breaths to calm his racing heart, he asked out loud, “…who is it?”

“It’s me,” Ingrid replied, pushing the door open. In the dark, he couldn’t actually see her- just a vague shape in the darkened doorway. “Get dressed. We need to leave.”

Quinn sat up in his bed slowly, his body stiff. “ _Leave?_ Where are we going? It’s still dark outside.”

“The castle,” she replied bluntly. “Today’s the day of the ceremony. Everyone else is already awake.”

Quinn let out a long breath, and climbed out of bed. “Alright. I’m gonna need a minute.”

Almost the moment Quinn was dressed, Ingrid led him from the Abbey’s north wing toward the audience chamber. He was surprised that even at this hour, white-and-silver robed initiates were already roaming about. Though as they walked, he noticed the sword hanging on Ingrid’s belt. “Uh, Miss Ingrid? If we’re going to the castle, I don’t think you can bring that in with you.”

“It’s alright,” she replied. “The Order has been granted special permission to keep their arms in the king’s presence.”

When Ingrid pushed open the audience chamber doors and stepped inside, Quinn saw that indeed, everyone was already there, waiting: Mother Agnes, Evangelyne and her three retainers, Isaac, Gail and Malcolm, and the two Archons Isaac introduced him to- Orion and Yonah. The masked man from the library stood at Yonah’s side, but Orion stood alone.

All eyes fell on Quinn as he and Ingrid entered. “Oh, you,” Yonah said. “You’re, uh… _Kris_ , right?”

Gail groaned, and stumbled over to Quinn, wrapping her arms around his back. “Quinn, ‘m cold,” she mumbled. “Warm me up.” Gail looked terrible- there were dark patches under her eyes, and her uniform was in disarray, with buttons unfastened and her shirt only half-tucked in.

Flustered, Quinn put his hands on her shoulders and tried to push her away gently. “Ah- Gail, get off! Everyone’s looking!”

Gail didn’t comply. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him tighter and pressed her face against his chest, letting out a muffled moan.

“You should be thankful, Gail,” Isaac said. “The cold will help keep you awake.”

“I don’ wanna be awake,” she moaned, her voice muffled by Quinn’s clothes. “This hour’s not meant to be seen by human eyes.”

Quinn gave Gail’s shoulder one last push, but she refused to let go. “Good to know at least _one_ thing hasn’t changed while I was away,” he said. In the three years he’d studied alongside her, not once had Gail ever come to a morning lesson on time. Quinn could only imagine the efforts Professor Isaac and Malcolm had taken to rouse her on this morning.

“Excellent, everyone’s finally here,” Mother Agnes called. Everyone looked to the throne at the far end of the room, where the white-haired woman was seated. “But before we leave, I would like to say one thing: In the castle, we are all but guests of King Oswald, invited at his pleasure. As such, I would ask that all of you conduct yourselves in a manner befitting representatives of the Order.” She then stood, and stepped down from the platform. “Now, let us be off.”

Mother Agnes left the audience chamber, with the others following close behind. All except for Quinn and Gail. Quinn looked down at the girl who was still clinging to him. “Gail, let go. Everyone’s leaving.”

Gail’s only reply was a faint snore.

He put his hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. “Gail.” No answer. “Gail. Wake up. I’m not carrying you.” Still no answer. He sighed, before shifting so he could carry Gail on his back.

Gail laughed faintly as Quinn looped his arms under her legs. “Oh Vincent, you’re so _bold_.”

“You’re lucky you’re so light, Gail,” Quinn replied, trying to ignore Gail’s strange comment.

Quinn followed the rest of the group through the Abbey, and out into the street. As he did, he saw Evangelyne begin falling behind the others, until she began walking alongside him. “You know,” she said, “I’m all for sweeping women off their feet, but I have the decency to do it while they’re conscious.”

“Good morning to you too, Evangelyne,” Quinn replied without looking over. Although they had interacted only a few times now, Quinn had quickly discovered that the best way to avoid Evangelyne’s teasing was to simply not react to it. Eventually, she would get bored and either move to bother someone else or state her business.

The blonde woman looked at Gail. “It’s strange to see you being so intimate with a woman other than Ingrid. You didn’t strike me as the type to play around, but I’ve been surprised before.” Her ever-present smile faltered for a moment. “I might just have to keep my promise you know.”

“We’re not like that,” Quinn replied firmly. He shuddered slightly though, as Gail mumbled something and tightened her grip on him. “Gail just has… a little trouble getting up in the morning.”

Evangelyne simply stared at him in silence.

“Well okay, _a lot_ of trouble,” he added. “But since you’re here, there’s something I wanted to ask you. This ceremony today… you’ve been to one before, right?”

Evangelyne put her hands behind her head as she walked. “Oh yeah, I’ve been to plenty of them.”

“What are they like?”

“Oh don’t worry, you won’t have to make a speech or anything. We go up to the castle, the king and Mother Agnes say a few words, and you get to wave to an adoring public.”

Quinn looked over, surprised. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Evangelyne began to speed up. “Really, it’s not a big deal. Everything will go just fine.”

* * *

 Quinn wasn’t sure what to expect from Castle Tristan. After all, he’d never been to a castle. Stories described them as impregnable, richly decorated, and filled with treasures beyond value. But after entering the castle’s keep, the best word he could use to describe it was… austere. In truth, it wasn’t much different from the Abbey, with the halls made mostly of bare stone and wood. The few decorations Quinn saw were restricted to tapestries or portraits, depicting scenes and people unknown to him, or simply Bannon’s flag.

Upon arriving, the group was met by a white-haired man in a black suit- the steward from the day before, who Oswald had called “Rowan.” He led them through a courtyard, where dozens of workers were scrambling to assemble a large stage, and into the keep- then, they were led through the corridors until finally being ushered into a large room with a long table- a dining room, from appearances.  Here, they waited, as the final preparations were completed.

An hour passed. Then two. Gail woke up in earnest, but there was little for the group to do other than wait. They sat at the table, divided into small groups- Quinn himself sat next to Ingrid. He sighed, and mumbled mostly to himself, “Did we really have to leave so early?”

“It does seem like preparations are taking an unusually long time,” Ingrid replied. “King Oswald led us to believe everything would be ready by the time Mother Agnes and I retrieved you.” Quinn couldn’t help but look over in surprise. He’d fully expected Ingrid to chide him for his impatience, not agree with him.

The door to the dining room swung open. Quinn expected the steward, but instead, Oswald stepped into the room, followed closely by Captain Uther. When he’d met Oswald, Quinn couldn’t see any resemblance to Uther, but with the two side-by-side, he could certainly believe that the two men were brothers.

“Your Majesty,” Mother Agnes said, standing. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting you to retrieve us personally.”

“I do apologize for the wait, Mother,” he replied. “We seem to be strangely short-handed at the moment.” He then turned to Quinn. “You’ve drawn quite the crowd, Quinn. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

The group was led once more through the keeps passageways by Oswald, but their route was different, and they were flanked on both sides by guards. As they walked, Ingrid leaned in and began to speak: “Alright Quinn, normally there are certain rules that need to be followed when in the presence of royalty, but we don’t have time to go over them. Just do anything that the king or Mother Agnes say, alright?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

The group was led through a pair of large doors into the courtyard once more. And after climbing a short flight of steps, the stood on the stage, the guards spreading out to take positions at the stage’s four corners. The entire courtyard was full, from the walls all the way to the very edge of the stage. All manner of people were gathered there, from nobles dressed extravagantly to vagrants wearing little more than rags. And all of them, if Oswald was to be believed, had come to see _him_. He was surprised by the sheer number, and more than a little embarrassed. After all, he hadn’t done much, other than get very lucky.

The clamor of the crowd was quickly silenced by the sound of a horn. Uther stiffened, and shouted, “Presenting! His Majesty, Oswald the Fourth, of the House of Maybury, Fourteenth King of Bannon and the Lesser Isles!”

The crowd cheered as Oswald stepped forward. “Thank you, Captain.” He then turned to the crowd:

“For over a century now, Bannon has proudly hosted the Archonite Order within its borders. Such is both an honor and a privilege beyond compare, as it is through the Order’s efforts that Bannon- and all of Aurea- have enjoyed a peace not seen in centuries. As thanks for hosting them, the Order granted the kings of Bannon the honor of declaring to the world when a new Bearer of a Ring of Power has joined their fold. My grandfather had the great fortune of presenting an Archon to the people in his lifetime, and my _own_ father presented not one, but _two_ Archons during his reign. And today, I shall join them in a privilege enjoyed by only a select few. But before that, I present to you all, the leader of the Archonite Order, Mother Agnes.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Mother Agnes said. Her tone was calm and quiet, as always- but even so, it seemed to fill the courtyard. “When the Archonite Order was founded over one-hundred fifty years ago, it was done with…”

Quinn stood, waiting to be called forward. He looked around: ahead was Mother Agnes, with Oswald- Uther had stepped back. Ingrid stood at his side- to his right, in a line, stood Professor Isaac, Malcolm, Gail, and Orion. On the left were Evangelyne, her retainers, and Yonah and Espada. As he waited, Quinn couldn't help but be reminded of some of the loftier dreams of his fellow miners back in Grimhold, dreams of becoming part of “high society.” But, if it was like this all the time-

Then, all at once… the world froze, again.

The color drained from everything, and all sound vanished. Quinn’s gasp echoed in the silence. “Again?” he asked, glancing down at his Ring. Sure enough, the black gem blazed with a brilliant blue light. He quickly began looking around- he didn’t know who was in danger, but if this vision was anything like the last, then there should already be movement.

It took only a few moments to find the enemy.

They were… the guards standing at each corner of the stage. He watched as the one in the corner behind the group, to the right, threw down his lance before charging forward, drawing a long dagger from his belt. But he was stopped, when the frozen Orion suddenly sprang to life, drawing an axe from his back and slashing the man across his chest with a blindingly fast swing.

Two of the other soldiers met similar ends- the soldier behind and to the left was run through after Espada suddenly moved as well, drawing his sword and stabbing the soldier through the chest. As for the soldier on the right… Mother Agnes turned to him, inhaled… and breathed out a long stream of fire that swallowed the man entirely.

But the last soldier, the one on Quinn’s left, managed to slip through. He ran past Uther, and straight towards Oswald. But unlike the others, Oswald did not move as the others did. The assassin raced toward him…

But before the two could meet, there was a flash, and the world began to move once more.

Quinn’s heart raced, and he could feel himself starting to sweat. He looked, and watched as the guards at the corners of the stage looked to one another, and nodded.

But he was ready. He was thankful he could bring his axe. Without it, he, and everyone else, would have been helpless.

In the corner of his eye, he watched the guard on his left cast his lance aside and charge toward Oswald. As soon as he saw the guard move, Quinn moved as well- he rushed forward, putting himself between the king and the guard. He pulled his axe from his belt, and swung with all his might.

The axe hit its mark, cleaving through a gap between the guard’s helmet and breastplate at the base of his neck. The guard sank to his knees- the only sound he made was a small rattle, before collapsing onto his side.

Quinn looked back, and shouted only a single word:

“ _Assassins!_ ”

The world seemed to slow. As in his vision, Orion and the masked man struck down the other two guards with ease. That left just one. Quinn watched as an orange glow appeared… inside Mother Agnes’s body. It had to be inside- he could see the shadow of her ribs surrounding that light. She inhaled sharply, before… breathing a stream of fire at the final guard.

The guard staggered, but it was too late. He was engulfed by the flames for a few seconds, before Agnes stopped exhaling. Nothing was left behind. Not even ashes. Just a dark scorch mark on the wooden stage.

Screams of terror came to Quinn’s ears. In an enormous wave, the crowd surged, moving toward the gate at the far end of the courtyard in a frenzy. But Quinn’s focus was caught by Uther shouting “Everyone, around the king!” The others rushed to form a shield surrounding Oswald. As they did, Uther continued, “Move to the keep! _Now!_ Oswald, we’re getting you out of here!”

Quinn had fallen into position between Ingrid and the masked man, Oswald at his back, walking backwards so as not to break the circle and leave the king exposed. But as his eyes darted over the now empty courtyard, only one thought came to Quinn’s head:

He did it.

_He did it!_

Just like at Tol Castell, he’d seen things play out, before they’d happened. And with what he saw, he-

A sound came to Quinn’s ears. The sound of a bowstring whipping the air, and an arrow whistling in flight.

He looked up. There was another. Not a guard, but a man, dressed in black with a bow in hand, atop a tower across from the keep.

His arrow was already in flight, headed straight for-

“ _Gghhhk!_ ”

Oswald fell to his knees. He was looking down at himself in shock, a near-black stain rapidly spreading over his red coat. The arrow had pierced through his back near his shoulder, and emerged on the left side of his chest. Right beneath his heart.

Oswald let out a pained breath, before asking in a strained voice, “Is… is my brother…” before falling forward.

Quinn could only stare at Oswald’s body, the axe falling from his hands with a metallic _clang_. The sounds of the world faded into a deep silence. The sights of the world faded too, leaving only the body, before it too was swallowed by darkness.

Quinn closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

And in his place, something… _else_ woke up.

* * *

 A deafening screech tore through the keep. There was a sound of cracking wood, and the stage buckled as a beast, as black as night, leapt to the tower on the other side of the courtyard. The top of the tower exploded into a shower of dust and stone fragments from the impact. The body of the man in black was thrown from the roof, and hit the ground below. For a moment, the man tried to crawl away, before the beast leapt down from the tower, and crushed his chest beneath his feet in a spray of blood and organs.

The beast stood still for a moment, before it reared back, and let out a deafening roar. And indeed, the word “beast” was all that could be used to describe the thing standing in the courtyard. It had two arms, and stood on two legs, but that was all that could be called “human.” The beast’s entire body, from head to foot, was covered in jagged black scales. Its skull and jaw had elongated, and from the sides of its head grew two short, curved horns. Its mouth was full of pointed teeth, and its eyes… it had three; the third was set slightly above and between the other two, and all three burned with the same blinding blue light.

Then, the beast suddenly darted to the side, avoiding an arrow. Glancing up, it seized the body of the man in black, before throwing it with all its might at another tower. The top of the tower exploded in another shower of broken stone. But the beast missed its mark, as three more people clad in black leapt down from the tower. They showed no fear, no hesitation, no emotion at all as they quickly surrounded the beast. Two lunged forward, daggers raised, one to the beast’s front, the other at its back.

With blinding speed, the beast leapt to the side, avoiding the assassin’s blades. With a snarl, it reached, and grabbed one of the assassins, its claw closing around his head. The assassin struggled for a moment, before the beast raised him up and slammed him into the ground with such force that the entire castle shook. The beast then crouched, launching himself at another assassin, and pinning her to the ground. Opening its mouth wide, the beast bit the assassin’s neck viciously, tearing away great, bleeding chunks of flesh with each bite. The assassin stabbed at the beast with her blade, but her dagger only bounced off its scales, before she fell limp.

The beast rose with a growl, seizing the body of the assassin by the leg, and swung it at her surviving comrade with all its might. The impact knocked the last assassin off his feet, and sent him sliding across the courtyard, with the beast racing close behind. And before the assassin could rise, the beast was upon him. The beast lifted up its foot, and stomped it down on his chest. A _crack_ rang through the courtyard as the assassin’s ribs were crushed beneath the beast’s heel. But the assassin did not cry out. And the beast did not stop. Again and again it stomped on the fallen assassin, snarling viciously.

Ingrid and the others had stood frozen as they watched the beast’s rampage. But now, as they watched as it stompe on the assassin’s body relentlessly, the group came to their senses. Gail covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide in horror of what she was seeing. “Oh gods… that can’t… that _can’t_ be Quinn, right?”

“Come on Quinn,” Ingrid mumbled. “Snap out of it.”

For a moment, the beast stopped. But, it then dropped to its knees and renewed its assault on the body, savagely clawing at it with its talons.

“This is getting out of hand,” Mother Agnes said, and leapt down from the platform. The beast took no notice as she approached. “Quinn, that’s enough,” she called. “The assassins are-”

The beast snarled and swiped at her, leaving a deep gouge in Agnes’s abdomen. “ _Aagh._ ” She collapsed onto her knees, her arms wrapped over her stomach.

“ _Mother Agnes!_ ” Evangelyne shouted. She and the other Archons leapt off the stage and rushed to protect their fallen leader. But all of them stopped when a woman bellowed a single word:

“ **QUINN!** ”

The beast turned. Ingrid walked across the courtyard with even steps, arms clasped behind her back. From her body language, she seemed calm… but her face was twisted into an livid scowl, the likes of which nobody in the Order had seen before. If Quinn were conscious, Ingrid’s expression alone would have sent him crawling on his knees, begging for mercy.

But Quinn wasn’t awake. The beast merely stood up, and looked at her in silence.

“Is this what you learned while you were away?” she asked. Her tone was even and measured, but had a hardness that could’ve broken steel. “Is this what Isaac spent the last three years teaching you? Hm? To raise your hand against your own allies?” She stepped forward. “Well? _Is it?_ ”

The beast growled and stepped toward her in response.

Ingrid didn’t say anything else. She simply lowered herself, gripping the hilt of her sword tightly, prepared to strike.

The beast… blinked.

“…M… Miss Ingrid?” it asked. It’s voice was distorted, but even so, it was still unmistakably Quinn’s.

But all at once, Quinn’s world was flooded with pain. It traveled up his neck, over his scalp, into his eyes, smothering him. He fell to his knees, clutching his head, letting out an earshattering mix of a roar and a pained scream.

Burning.

He was burning.

It felt as if liquid fire was being poured over his shoulders, over his head, directly into his brain.

But through the pain, he saw… things.

Images flashed before his eyes, sounds and voices echoed in his ears. Images of places he’d never seen, of people he didn’t recognize.

Professor Isaac, Yonah, and another blonde woman he didn’t know, their eyes glowing red, the whites of their eyes colored a solid black. A tall man, with short black hair and a short beard walking forward slowly across a hall of grey stone, clad in dark grey armor with a red cape, a long-handled axe in hand. Himself, arm covered in scales, charging forward, and blocking a sword swing from a wild-eyed man with blonde, spiked hair in a sand-filled arena. An old woman in a red cloak, with a long white braid hanging over her shoulder, and eyes the brightest blue he had ever seen. A young man in armor of pure white, steam rising from his body, raising a white sword. A black horse rearing back in a dark forest, ridden by a black figure with no head, wreathed in blue flames.

The voice of a man, tired and weary: “…to see the flag of my forefathers, flying freely over my homeland.” A young girl’s voice, strained: “ _Nnnno! Nno! No, no, no no no no!_ ” Another man, younger, his voice full of anger: “You claim to seek justice! But what about _my_ people? Where’s _their_ justice!?” The voice of an elderly woman: “I wondered about the kind of human that would find my Ring.” Another man’s voice, this one full of arrogance: “All of Navarro- _no_ , all of _Aurea_ will know your _failure!_ ”A deep male voice, one that rumbled like distant thunder: “If you knew, what _I_ knew, that woman would be _your_ enemy, too.” The voice of a young woman, devoid of all emotion: “Ragnarok has commanded your death.”

Too much.

It was too much for him to take.

Quinn fell to one knee, then the other, before finally falling forward. Before he’d hit the ground, he’d already fallen unconscious.

* * *

 The first thing Quinn became aware of… was the cold. The entire right side of his body was cold. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear away the blurriness.

He was lying face-down, on a hard, freezing cold stone floor. He slowly picked up his head, and looked around. He was in a small room, square, no more than a few steps across. The walls were bare and featureless, with just a single, solid door set into the wall in front of him.

He then looked down at himself. He was… normal, though covered in bloodstains. He… couldn’t remember where they had come from.

Then, he became aware of voices.

The first voice he heard belonged to a man, young from the sound of it, and smooth: “…that Archon kid did a real number on the castle. It’s gonna take us months to fix everything. And he’s just _one_ kid- the Order has five. Makes me glad they’re on our side.”

“Me? I don’t trust ‘em,” a second voice replied. This one too was male, but much rougher, as though it belonged to someone very old. “Man’s not meant ta have that kinda power. All the problems we’ve been havin’- here, an’ everywhere else, are ‘cause of those damned Rings.” The rough voice added, “‘Sides, you should be more worried about where those assassins came from. You saw how many there were, right? We’ve never had a breach this size before…”

It took several moments for Quinn to rise to his feet. He hurt. His entire body ached, and he could almost hear his joints groan in protest as he pushed himself to his feet. But somehow, he managed, and slowly shuffled to the cell door. “Hello?” he called weakly.

A small slat on the door slid to the side. Through it, two pairs of eyes looked into the cell. “Yer awake,” the rough-voiced man said. “How ‘bout that?”

“What’s going on?” Quinn asked. “Where am I?”

“The dungeon of Castle Tristan,” the smooth-voiced man replied. “Parliament has ordered that you are to be detained until they can conduct an inquiry and determine your involvement in the assassination of King Oswald.”

“ _Involvement?_ ” Quinn asked, incredulous. “What _‘involvement?’_ I tried to protect King Oswald! Ask anyone who was there! I-”

The slat on the door was slid shut. “Until Parliament has made their decision, you’re staying right here,” the smooth-voiced man said.

So, Quinn waited. He couldn’t say for how long. The cell had no windows, and although there was a light beneath the door, it was the relatively steady light of a torch, rather than the sun.

But after some time had passed, as he sat against the wall opposite the door, he could hear voices speaking to each other. They were muffled at first, but as he drew closer, he could hear the smooth-voiced man: “I’m sorry, Mother Agnes. But the boy is staying here. Parliament’s orders.”

“This man risked his life to protect your king. Is that not proof enough of his innocence?” he heard Mother Agnes reply. “Release him. _Now._ ” He shivered. Even inside the cell, he could hear the hardness in her voice. He couldn’t imagine what sort of expression she had, but judging by how quickly the cell door latch clicked open, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

The door swung open. Mother Agnes stood on the other side. As soon as she saw Quinn, she said, “Good, you’re awake. Come, we need to leave.”

Quinn almost sprang up as soon as he saw Mother Agnes. But in his head, he saw a flash. A flash of himself, clawing at her. He hesitated, and remained seated.

She stepped forward, into the cell. “Quinn. It’s alright. If this is about what happened in the courtyard, then I’m not upset with you.”

He hesitated again. And rather than standing, he said “…I saw it.”

“Hm?”

“I saw the assassins who killed King Oswald.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. Her expression seemed to change to one of… irritation. “You’re far from the only one.”

“No, I…” Quinn stammered, trying to find the words to explain what he’d seen. “I saw them, before it happened. The same thing happened on Tol Castell. I saw an archer kill Captain Uther. But then, everything was normal again, until I saw the archer again, and I pushed him out of the way.”

Mother Agnes crossed the cell, her eyes opened fully; the whites of her eyes were black, and her red eyes were focused on Quinn. “ _Explain_.”

He shuddered, but gathered his thoughts as best he could. “It was like, everything was… _frozen_. Everything but me, and the enemy. I saw them kill Uther, attack you and the others. And then… and then everything goes back to normal, and I see the enemy doing the same thing again.” Quinn hung his head. “It let me save Captain Uther, but… King Oswald… I-I couldn’t…”

“Precognition,” Mother Agnes said.

Quinn looked up at the woman in white- he saw that her eyes were once again closed. “What?”

“The power to see events that will take place in the future, before they happen. That is precognition.” Agnes pointed to his hand. “ _That_ is the power of your Ring.”

Quinn looked down at his hand, and the ring on his finger. The power to see the future… when Mother Agnes said it like that, suddenly everything made sense. It was simple. _Too_ simple. Why hadn’t he figured it out for himself before now? But… “But what about… the other thing?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” she replied earnestly. “Your Ring… is unlike any I’ve ever seen before. But setting that aside for now…” She knelt, and looked at him, her eyes open once more. “Did you see _anything_ else?”

Quinn was quiet, the flurry of visions he’d seen flashing through his mind. If what Agnes said was true, then they must have been visions of the future. But they were so… disorderly, with people and places he’d never seen. And he had no way of knowing how long it would be before these visions would come to pass. He could only shake his head in response.

Agnes frowned slightly, shutting her eyes. “I see. Tell me: have you given a name to your Ring?”

“Uhh…” Ingrid had pressed him about that as well. But, for all this thoughts on the matter, nothing came to mind.

“If not,” Agnes continued, “then I have a proposal: Norn.”

“Huh? Norn? What’s ‘Norn?’” Quinn asked.

“In the nations of the White Sea, long before the Confederation of Ulrich was formed, people worshipped the Norns- goddesses who controlled the fates of men and kingdoms alike,” Agnes explained. “The power to see one’s fate, to avert disaster, has been sought by many. And it seems that _you_ have been blessed with this gift.” She turned. “Now, let us be on our way. There are things we need to discuss.”

Agnes left the cell. Quinn stood, and followed her into a narrow tunnel, devoid of windows and lit by torches. The two walked, passing another cell- the wall had been replaced with a series of thick metal bars, allowing Quinn to see inside. And within was a man, seated against the wall on the right. His hair was white, and curly, and he wore, a black suit that clung tightly to his body, and a dark purple cloak.

Quinn stopped as he looked at the man. “Who’s that?”

A guard standing by the bars replied, “One of the assassins we managed to apprehend. Pay him no mind.”

As Quinn peered into the cell, he searched through his memory, trying to recall the white-haired man. This most recent incident was different from those that had come before. Before, he felt as if he was watching someone else act through his body. But this time, it was as if he was asleep entirely, only occasionally awakening to see the carnage he wrought.

But Quinn had seen the assassins with his own eyes, even if only briefly. And this man… was different from them. And it wasn’t simply because he couldn’t recall seeing this man. The other assassins had blank, soulless faces, devoid of emotion even as life left them. But this man looked… sullen, morose. As though filled with regret.

Quinn leaned towards the bars. “Hey,” he called. “What’s your name?”

“What’s it to you?” the man asked in return. He didn’t look over.

“You’re wasting your time,” the guard said. “We’ve already interrogated him, but he refuses to answer any of our questions.”

Quinn looked at the man for a few moments more. “My name’s Quinn. The guard says you’re one of the assassins, but…” He hesitated, but only for a moment. “But I don’t believe that. You’re not like the others.”

Mother Agnes put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Come now, Quinn. We can’t waste anymore time.” She began to push him forward.

But then, the man in the cell said, “…Lindow.”

Quinn looked back. “Huh?”

He stood, and approached the bars. “I said… You can call me ‘Lindow.’”

But before anything else could be said. Mother Agnes pushed Quinn again, more firmly. “ _Quinn_. We really must be leaving now.” And without any objections, Quinn let himself be led away.

* * *

 

“Well, what about Burgundy?” Quinn asked. “They could be looking for revenge for Tol Castell.”

“Unlikely,” Ingrid replied. “A report of the Tol Castell incident _was_ dispatched to Agravain, but it shouldn’t have arrived yet. And even if the Burgundians found out on their own, it would have taken them time for King Martel to receive the information and respond.”

“Besides,” Isaac added, “the men at Tol Castell were mutineers. Criminals. Hardly the kind of people a nation would want to avenge."

“This was not a hastily constructed strike at vengeance, Quinn,” Mother Agnes said. “This was a well-planned, well-coordinated operation.” She leaned forward in her seat, resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands in front of her face. “It’s likely that its proximity to your assignment at Tol Castell is nothing more than a coincidence.”

Mother Agnes had brought Quinn out of the castle dungeon, and up to a room she had called “the war room.” Here, the others, save for Orion, had gathered, to discuss possible culprits behind the assassination. All were seated at a round table, save Uther, who stood with his back against a wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression… difficult to read.

Agnes had shared with Quinn what little information they had gathered while he was unconscious. Apparently, the man they’d apprehended wasn’t actually an assassin- rather, simply a thief, hired by the assassins to break them into the castle. Unfortunately, he knew nothing about the assassins- who hired them, or why. In fact, according to him, he hadn’t even known the group had intended to kill Oswald until he’d been found and arrested.

The doors at the end of the room were thrown open. With long strides, Orion crossed the room and stopped in front of the table. His arm was raised, and curiously, a raven was perched on his hand. “Mother Agnes. News from Hessen.” He lowered his hand to the table- in response, the raven hopped down, and across the table to where Agnes was seated.

Agnes looked at the raven. “You may speak.”

The crow opened its beak. A muffled voice could be heard saying, “…I’m supposed to talk into it? I feel like a fool.”

“ _Speak,_ ” Mother Agnes ordered.

“Oh! Uh, y-yes,” the crow said. “My name is… Joachim, captain of the Hessian Sixth Regiment stationed at Ft. Branden. We’ve just received reports from our scouts confirming large-scale movements of Burgundian forces- they’re heading north. In addition, reports indicate new fortifications have been placed at the Coteau Bridge south of the border.”

“I see. You are dismissed,” Mother Agnes said, before muttering, “So that’s what this is about…”

Quinn stared at the bird, then to Agnes, and then Ingrid. “Uh… is this… is that normal?”

Professor Isaac looked to Mother Agnes, ignoring Quinn’s comment. “I’ll need to return to Hessen to help the army coordinate their defenses,” he said. “With your permission, Mother Agnes.”

“Granted,” Agnes replied.

Isaac stood. “Thank you. Malcolm, with me.”

Malcolm stood. Gail leapt up as well. “I’ll go too!” she cried.

“No.” Isaac’s reply was firm. “I want you to stay here at the Abbey. You’re not prepared for this.”

“Oh _come on!_ ” she shouted in protest. “You always say that I’m not ready! But how do you know I’m not ready if-”

“ _Gail_.” The tone in Isaac’s voice caused Gail to immediately fall silent. “This isn’t open for discussion. You’re staying here.”

Gail opened her mouth for a moment, as if to protest again, but instead hung her head and replied, “Yes, sir.”

Isaac raised his ring. But before he could do anything, Mother Agnes said, “Isaac. I want you to take Yonah and Orion with you.”

“As you wish.” With his left hand, Professor Isaac drew a circle in the air, before placing his hand in the center. At once, a shimmering circle of rainbow light opened in the air. Malcolm, Espada, Yonah, and Orion walked into it without hesitation.

As Isaac prepared to follow, Mother Agnes said, “Isaac. Tell Orion I want regular reports on the situation. Hourly, if he can manage it.”

Isaac nodded. “As you wish.” He prepared to step through the circle once again.

“Professor,” Quinn called. The older man looked back. “…be safe.”

“Don’t worry,” Isaac replied. “I have every intention of returning alive.” He stepped through the circle, and in a flash of rainbow light, it disappeared.

Instantly, Gail turned her attention to Quinn. “You’re going out there too, right? Take me with you, Quinn. I can help you!”

“Uh…” Quinn stammered. But any reply he had was delayed when Uther pushed himself away from the wall and began walking to the door. “Captain? Where are you going?”

“Parliament,” he said as he crossed the room. “We need to muster troops. I will not stand by and let Burgundy have its way.” He reached the door, and prepared to pull it open-

“Hold, Captain,” Mother Agnes said.

Uther paused, but did not look back. “Apologies, Mother Agnes. But there’s no time.”

Agnes stood. “Captain. I understand your desire for vengeance. And I understand that as Bannon’s heir apparent, there are now obligations you need to fulfill. But do not let your grief cloud your judgment. I have a proposal, one I believe may bring a swift end to this war _before_ it can truly begin. I would ask only for a moment of your time to hear me out.”

Uther stood before the door for a moment, before turning back. “…What did you have in mind?”

“Come,” Agnes said, resting her hand on the table. Uther walked to the edge of the table as well. Set upon it was a large map of Aurea. “When you and Parliament have readied your forces, I expect you will send them directly to Corburg, yes?” Agnes tapped Corburg’s position on the map for emphasis.

Uther nodded. “That is the most likely course of action Parliament will take.”

“I would ask that you retain a retain a portion of your soldiers- at least a quarter of the troops you muster.”

Uther looked up, eyeing Agnes with suspicion. “…Why?”

“Don’t misunderstand- these soldiers _will_ fight. But rather than sending them to the front along the border, I ask that you send them _here_.” She pointed to another section of the map, in the south.

Uther read the words written there aloud. “Fort Guyenne…” He stroked his beard. “I see what you’re trying to do. But, getting a force to this area isn’t going to be easy. If Burgundy is preparing for war, they’ll have anticipated this and created a naval blockade.”

Agnes nodded. “True, but Fort Guyenne is near the border with Kherson, and Burgundy will want to avoid provoking them. This should leave us a gap large enough to slip through.”

Uther looked up at Agnes. “So, this is your proposal? Divide our forces and fight on two fronts?”

“Not quite. We’ll begin by dispatching a single ship with a small vanguard to seize the fort and gain a secondary foothold. From there, we can ferry the rest of the force into the area, and then begin advancing on Agravain.” Agnes turned her attention to Quinn. “Quinn, I place you in charge of the vanguard.”

Quinn jolted. “Wait, what?”

“Your success at Tol Castell, and your actions today lead me to believe that you would be best suited to this assignment,” Agnes said.

“B-But… I…” he stammered.

“It is true that you were unable to save King Oswald. But even so, it’s likely our losses would have been much greater without your intervention.” Agnes leaned forward. “And, Burgundy is not yet aware a new Archon has been found. Your mere existence is an advantage that we can exploit.” She then turned to Ingrid. “Ingrid, I’m placing you under Quinn’s command once again. You are permitted to use any means to ensure his success.”

Ingrid touched her cap. “As you wish, Mother Agnes.”

Uther looked down at the map once more. “Your proposal is… not unreasonable, Mother Agnes,” he said. “But I don’t see how I fit into this.”

Agnes touched the circle on the map labelled Corburg. “Professor Isaac will be aiding the Hessian commanders in directing their forces, and the Bannish force being dispatched to Corburg will fall under the local commanders’ jurisdiction.” Her hand moved to Fort Guyenne. “But we will need a commander for the secondary force. Captain, would you be willing to assume that role?”

It only took a moment for Uther to reply: “I will. On one condition.”

“Name your price.”

Uther’s expression hardened into a stern glare. “I want to be part of the vanguard. Burgundy has landed the first blow. And _I_ will be the one to retaliate. No one else.”

“I’m afraid that decision would fall to the leader of the vanguard,” Agnes replied, her eyes falling on Quinn.

Quinn jolted again, as all eyes in the room turned to him. “Oh! Um…” he stammered. “That… that’s fine, Captain.”

Uther nodded. “I thank you. Now, I have things I must see to.” He turned from the table.

“As do we all.” Agnes stood. “Everyone, let us make our own preparations. We have a war to win.”

* * *

 The castle was quiet. And the whole world, it seemed, was asleep. But not Quinn. Quietly, he wandered the grounds of Castle Tristan, contemplating the events of the day- his first day as an Archon. A king had been killed on his watch, and now he was preparing for war. He had to admit, he still wasn’t sure what being an Archon meant, but today’s events couldn’t have been further from his expectations.

His thoughts were interrupted by a cracking sound from beneath his feet. He looked down, to see a few broken tiles underfoot- shingles from the roof of one of the towers he’d broken. The keep was some distance away, but signs of the the destruction he caused were scattered all over the grounds. He let out a small sigh.

“Hey.”

Quinn jolted at the unfamiliar voice. He quickly turned, to find its source; the thief, who’d called himself “Lindow,” leaning against a wall. “Trouble sleeping?” he asked.

“You!” Quinn said. “How did you-”

The thief crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, wouldn’t be my first time breaking out of jail.”

Quinn took a breath to compose himself. “…why are you here?” He doubted that simply introducing himself would have been enough to encourage the thief to turn over a new leaf.

“Would you believe me if I said it was because you’re an interesting person?” Lindow said with a smile. When Quinn didn’t answer, he looked away and sheepishly replied, “…didn’t think so.”

“Mother Agnes told me about you,” Quinn said. “She said that you said you didn’t know the people who hired you were going to kill Oswald.” He then asked incredulous, “How could you not know? Didn’t they tell you anything when they hired you?”

Lindow folded his arms over his chest, his expression hardening. “Listen kid, in my business, people who dig too deep tend not to live for very long. We’re paid to get a job done, not ask questions.”

Quinn looked at the thief with suspicion, but said “Alright. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Lindow sighed, and scratched his head. “I might not have known what those guys were up to, but I got them into the castle. So… _I’m_ the reason the king’s dead.” He paused. “I… I don’t know. I guess I feel… _guilty_ , about it. I want to make up for it.”

“Well, you could start by apologizing to Captain Uther” Quinn replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oswald _was_ his brother.”

Lindow held out his arms defensively. “Whoa whoa, hold on. Let me rephrase that: I want to make up for it in ways that _don’t_ begin and end with me getting my head chopped off.”

“It sounds like you have something in mind already,” Quinn said.

“I do,” Lindow replied with a nod. “I… had a listen to your meeting earlier. So… I’ll fight with you.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’ll fight with us? And how would a thief help us?”

“Look, I have contacts all over. Whatever information you need, I can get it. And… well there’s a reason those guys hired me. I can get into places that no one else can.” He shrugged. “Come on. You Archon people take on servants all the time, right?”

“Well, Evangelyne called them ‘retainers,’ but that _is_ true.” Quinn recalled something Evangelyne had said just a few days before: _…_ _the Order is_ always _in need of talented individuals, after all._

“See?” Lindow asked. “It shouldn’t be a problem. So, what do you say? We got a deal?”

For a long while, Quinn was quiet. Lindow looked at him, his jaw clenched tightly as he waited. Finally, Quinn said, “Just let me ask you one thing: Do you mean it?”

“Do I mean what?”

“When you say that you feel guilty for what happened… do you mean it?”

Lindow nodded.  “I do.” He looked down at his hands. “I mean, if I can help it, I’d prefer to make up for it _without_ dying, but if it comes to that…” He balled up his hands into fists. “…well, I’d prefer to die fighting for _something_. You know?”

Again, Quinn fell silent for a few moments. Then… he smiled. “I knew there was something different about you,” he said. “And I’m glad I was right.” He held out his hand. “You’ve got a deal, Lindow.”

Lindow let out a laugh, and shook Quinn’s hand firmly. “Oh thank the gods. To be honest, I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you turned me down. But, I’m glad you decided to trust me. I won’t let you down.”

The thief finally let go of Quinn’s hand, and turned, putting his hands behind his head. “Besides, I was hoping to get a chance to introduce myself to that blue-haired lady-friend of yours.”

Quinn furrowed his brow. “Ingrid? Why?”

“I’d hope I wouldn’t have to explain it. But then again, you might be a bit too young to understand even if I did.”

“ _Hey,_ ” Quinn replied, indignant. But Lindow only replied with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lindow- The archetypal thief character. His introduction was inspired by Gaius from Awakening, as a simple thief mixed in with characters with a more nefarious purpose. Although he takes his name from the character from God Eater, he has much more in common with Guy from Tales of the Abyss (and to a lesser extent, Lon'qu from Awakening), namely, as a handsome flirt who has a deep phobia of women touching him due to events in his backstory, and takes some elements of his appearance from Octopath Traveler's Therion. Would ideally be voiced by Matthew Mercer.
> 
> Oswald- Oswald is, and was created with the intention of being, a sacrificial character whose death spurs the conflicts that follow (in terms of FE character archetypes, he would be a Cornelius). The name Oswald was taken from the Odin Sphere character of the same name. If he had a voice actor, it would probably be Liam O'Brien.
> 
> Rings of Power- The Rings of Power are inspired by their namesake from J.R.R. Tolkien's Legendarium. Unlike the Rings in the Legendarium, however, whose powers are vaguely defined, each Ring in the story is named, has a distinct appearance that separates it from others, and is granted an entirely unique ability. In essence, I wanted the Rings that appear to almost be characters in their own right.
> 
> "Norn-" Quinn's Ring of Power. Ironically, despite being the first Ring introduced in the story, it was actually the last to gain a unique power. For a long while, it had no power beyond its ability to transform Quinn into a dragon-like form. It wasn't until late that it would acquire it's "unique" power- precognition, inspired by Shulk of Xenoblade Chronicles' ability to see the future. It retains the ability to transform its wearer, but as a result of its creation rather than any power unique to the Ring itself.
> 
> Bifrost- Isaac's Ring of Power. Named after the rainbow bridge connecting Asgard to Midgard in Norse Mythology, the Ring allows its wearer to create portals connecting any location, and cross great distances in a short length of time. The concept for Bifrost came about after I noticed many of the Rings of Power had offensively-oriented abilities, and wanted to break that trend.


	8. Chapter V: The First Strike, Part I

**V: The First Strike, Part I**

**Lithe 2, 706**

“So Lindow,” Quinn began, “have you ever been to Burgundy?”

“A few times, for jobs,” the thief replied. “Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering what it’s like.”

Lindow let out a small laugh. “Well, if we’re talking about Burgundy, then we _have_ to talk about the food. There’s a reason their chefs are named the best in the world- even the _bread_ is a world apart.” He smirked. “Plus, the women aren’t too bad on the eyes, either.”

“Okay…” Quinn replied slowly. “But, I was thinking more about how it compares to Bannon.”

“Hmm… well, the weather’s nicer for one thing. Not always cloudy like it is here. And it's not as flat. Especially out west, where we’re going.”

Quinn shook his head. “I don’t mean _that_ either,” he said, looking over. “What are the people there like?”

“Ah, that. Well…” Lindow scratched his head. “Once you do enough travelling, kid, you’ll find out that people have more things in common than they do differences.”

Three weeks had passed since the day of the ceremony, the day King Oswald had been assassinated. The day after, Uther had departed to travel across Bannon, and raise an army to oppose Burgundy. It didn’t take long for the first soldiers to arrive in Tristan- now, tents and pavilions of all sizes blanketed the fields south of the city as far as the eye could see. All manner of people came- men and women, young and old, from nobles honoring ancient vows to serve their king, to mercenaries selling their services, to simple villagers wanting to show their patriotism.

But the sudden influx of people to the city had brought a number of problems with it- namely, crime. Mother Agnes had said that aiding the the city guards in maintaining law and order would demonstrate the Order’s commitment to defending Bannon. Quinn thought that fighting in Burgundy would be enough, but in the end, deferred to the older woman’s judgement. At the moment, Quinn and Lindow were patrolling atop the city walls at the south end of Tristan, watching the enormous camp.

Quinn stopped, and looked out over the wall. “I didn’t think so many people would come.”

“It’s not _that_ surprising,” Lindow replied. “Plenty of people here in Bannon hate Burgundy for what they did in the last war. And I’m sure the Burgundians haven’t forgiven Bannon for breaking away and becoming their own kingdom.”

“I guess…” Quinn said, leaning against a parapet. “I just don’t get it, though. All those things happened such a long time ago. How can you hate someone so much, for doing things to people that you’ve never even _met?_ ”

For a few moments, Lindow was silent. “People are slow to forget,” he replied in a low voice, “and, even slower to forgive. That’s… all I can really say.” The thief looked around, looking for something to steer the conversation elsewhere, when something caught his eye. “Well. Would you look at that?”

Quinn followed Lindow’s gaze- to his surprise, Ingrid was atop the wall as well, leaning against the battlements as she looked out over the camp. He hurried over, calling, “Miss Ingrid!”

“Miss Inquisitor,” Lindow said as he followed Quinn. “We weren’t expecting to run into you out here.”

Ingrid didn’t reply.

Quinn stepped forward. “What’s the matter, Miss Ingrid?”

“I don’t like this,” she replied in a low voice.

Quinn let out a small sigh. “Miss Ingrid, you said you weren’t upset about me taking Lindow as a retainer.”

Ingrid looked over. “It’s not that. I still don’t agree entirely, but if you believe this man can help us, I’ll respect your decision.” She looked out over the camp once more. “It’s our situation with Burgundy I don’t like.”

“Seems like you know something the rest of us don’t,” Lindow said. “So spill it.”

Ingrid was quiet for a moment, as if to gather her thoughts. “I was in Burgundy for half a year, gathering intelligence. In all that time, there was no indication that Burgundy was preparing for an invasion.”

“Well, maybe they were just waiting for the right moment,” Quinn said. He pointed to the encampment outside the walls. “I mean, look out there. It’s only been three weeks, but Uther managed to raise a pretty big force. The last count says there’s eight thousand men out there.”

Ingrid sighed. “You don’t understand the logistics of raising an army, Quinn,” she replied. “An army isn’t just soldiers- those soldiers need food, weapons, armor, medicine, all manner of supplies. Especially if they’re planning a large-scale manuver, like an invasion. You simply can’t hide something like that. There _should_ have been shortages and higher prices all over Burgundy as resources were diverted to supporting their soldiers- Bannon hasn’t even sent its army abroad yet, but we’re _already_ seeing both.” Ingrid glanced at Quinn. “Or, have you not noticed?”

Now that Ingrid mentioned it, Quinn had heard people griping about sudden increases in the prices of… almost _everything_. Not to mention, meals served at the Abbey seemed more scanty than usual.

“An invasion of Hessen would need months of preparation, and an appropriate level of supplies,” Ingrid continued. “But I didn’t see any signs of that kind of stockpiling happening in my time in Burgundy.”

“Well, I doubt any of us expected the Burgundians to strike at my brother directly,” a familiar voice replied. “In his own castle, no less.”

Quinn, Ingrid, and Lindow looked to source of the voice, to see Uther approaching. Two people flanked him- on Uther’s left was Gwin, but on the right was a young woman that was unfamiliar. The three came to a stop a short distance away. “And yet, it is so,” Uther said.

“Captain,” Ingrid said. “You’ve returned.”

“Our call to arms was a resounding success,” the captain replied. “According to Parliament’s most recent count, we stand twelve thousand strong.’

Lindow let out an impressed whistle. “Not bad for such short notice.”

The captain gave Lindow an odd look, before continuing, “…Indeed. There’s been no shortage of people willing to march against Burgundy. So many, in fact, we’ve had to turn a fair portion away- we simply don’t have enough ships to carry all of them.” Uther’s gaze focused on Ingrid. “Parliament has also agreed to Mother Agnes’s proposal, and will set aside two-and-a-half thousand men for a secondary force.”

“Two-and-a-half thousand.” Ingrid’s expression darkened, and she folded her arms over her chest. “That’s less than what Mother Agnes asked for.”

Uther looked out to the camp. “Parliament has declared that the army’s first priority is defending Hessen,” he replied. “They’d initially planned to send only a thousand men to Fort Guyenne, but I was able to convince them to send more. That said, if our mission is a success, it may convince Parliament to give the secondary force additional support.”

The captain looked back to Ingrid. “I also have a message from the good Mother herself: she’s chartered a ship from the Guild to carry the vanguard to Fort Guyenne. It will be departing in two days. She asks that you prepare yourselves accordingly.”

Ingrid touched the beak of her cap. “Thank you, Captain.”

Uther turned, but before he could walk away, Gwin hesitantly said, “Uh, Boss? There was something else you wanted to do.”

“Hmm?” Uther turned back. “Oh, yes. I wanted to introduce you to my second-in-command. This is my lieutenant, Fiona.” He motioned to the woman. “She, along with Gwin and Julius, will be accompanying me into the field.”

The woman stepped forward, toward Quinn. He looked… _down_ at her slightly. That was rather surprising, as he couldn’t recall meeting a woman so short- even Gail, who _was_ shorter than him, could still almost look him in the eye. Her eyes and her shoulder-length hair were brown- the same color as Gwin’s- and her armor had a faint red tinge; while it had seen more wear than Gwin’s, it wasn’t as battered as Uther’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Quinn,” she said. “Gwin’s told me all about you.” She gave a sideways glance to Gwin. “Though it seems my brother neglected to tell you about _me_.”

“Hey, we had a job to do, Sis,” Gwin protested.

“You’re Uther’s second in command?” Quinn asked, shaking the woman’s hand. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her- despite her height, if her grip was anything to go by she must have been incredibly strong. “Then, why didn’t you come with us to Tol Castell?”

“Someone needed to stay behind and protect Tristan in my absence,” Uther replied “And there are no soldiers under my command who would be more fitting for that role. Fiona is one of the finest knights to ever come out of the Dalish Guard- indeed, one of the finest soldiers Bannon has ever fielded.”

Fiona nodded, smiling with satisfaction as Uther praised her, until Gwin said, “Don’t praise her too much, Boss. Her head’s big enough from all the praise Dad gives her.”

Fiona’s attention snapped to Gwin, her expression twisted in anger. “Why you-! Come here!” With incredible speed, she leapt and grabbed her brother, wrapping her arms around his neck and forcing him to his knees.

“ _Aaah!_ Sis, my neck isn’t gonna-” There was a crack. “ _Gaaah!_ ” Gwin flailed, but couldn’t escape from Fiona’s grip.

“If anyone’s got a big head here, it’s _you!_ ” Fiona snapped. “Mouthing off like that!”

“Alright, that’s enough you two,” Uther said, stepping forward. “Save your aggression for the Browns.”

A sudden gust of wind swept across the top of the wall. One that Quinn recognized, as it far from natural. He looked up, to see a figure in black arcing across the blue sky. Everyone else stopped to watch the figure as well, wariness apparent on their faces. But when the figure landed, they could see it was not another assassin. Rather, it was a girl. A girl with dark skin and blonde hair held by a black band, wearing a sleeveless black shirt, black shorts, and a long black scarf. In her hands was a book of spells that she quickly tucked away as she ran up to Quinn.

“Quinn. Take me with you,” Gail said.

“Again?” Quinn muttered in exasperation, before saying firmly, “Gail, Professor Isaac said no.”

Gail scowled and stomped her foot. “I’m not asking Professor Isaac! I’m asking _you!_ ”

“Alright.” Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “ _…No_.”

“ _Grr!_ ” Gail’s attention snapped to Ingrid. She pointed at the inquisitor. “Ingrid! Tell Quinn to take me with him!”

Ingrid replied flatly, “I apologize, but Mother Agnes named Quinn as leader of the vanguard. As such, all decisions pertaining to the selection of vanguard members falls to him.”

Gail angrily stammered for a few moments, before her attention turned back to Quinn. She pulled back her foot and kicked Quinn in the shin as hard as she could. “ _Gah!_ ” Quinn dropped to one knee, cradling his leg. “ _Ow! What was that for!?_ ”

She ran from him, shouting, “Stupid! You guys are jerks!” She pulled out her tome, but rather than taking aim at Quinn or Ingrid, she pointed at the ground beneath her feet. There was a rush of wind, and a spiralling column of air sent Gail sailing into the sky. She landed on a rooftop within the city after several moments, before launching herself again with another column of wind.

With a groan, Quinn rose to his feet. Gwin and Fiona stared silently at the girl’s rapidly shrinking figure, Fiona’s arms still wrapped around Gwin’s neck. “Who was that?” the brother asked.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Fiona suggested.

“What- _no!_ ” Quinn stammered. “That was- she, uh…”

Ingrid stepped forward. “That girl is a student of one of the Order’s Archons,” she said. “She was brought here from the Arcane College for her own protection. Though it seems she disagrees with the Professor’s decision.”

“Well, putting that aside,” Uther said, turning his gaze back toward Quinn and Ingrid. “We should be on our way. We don’t have much time, and we have our _own_ preparations to make.”

“Indeed,” Ingrid replied. She then looked to Quinn. “Come, Quinn. We should return to the Abbey.”

The group split in two, and went their separate ways. But as they walked away, Quinn could hear the conversation between Fiona and Gwin:

“Hmm… I never thought you’d have an eye for Dorics, Gwin.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“That girl from earlier. You were staring.”

“Ghe- _wha?_ ” Gwin spluttered. “I-I wasn’t…”

Fiona laughed. “Still, she _was_ cute. I think Dad would be happy for you if you brought home a girl like that.”

Gwin sighed. “Don’t you think I’m a bit young to be thinking about settling down…?”

* * *

 Two days later, the vanguard’s ship launched on schedule. The ship would not only carry them to Burgundy, but also scout the enemy nation’s naval defenses, finding the best route for the secondary force to follow. To avoid enemy ships, they would have to take a long, circuitous route far from shore.

Quinn, Lindow, Julius, Gwin, and Fiona were gathered in a cabin below deck, seated on various cots and hammocks. “…Come on, Julius. I know our job doesn’t seem as exciting, but it’s still important,” Gwin said.

“I am well aware of the importance of our mission,” Julius replied. “I was merely disappointed to learn we would not be serving on the Hessian front. There is word that Professor Isaac is commanding the forces there. So, I had hoped that I would finally have a chance to meet him face-to-face.”

Lindow looked to the priest. “You must really have it in for this Professor guy. You bring him up all the time.”

Julius narrowed his eyes slightly, and adjusted his glasses. “I assure you, I harbor no feelings of hostility towards the Professor. Rather, he is a person I admire greatly. I consider it my life’s goal to meet him as a fellow mage.”

A brief silence settled, before Julius said, “Quinn. I couldn’t help but notice that you have been rather quiet. Is there something troubling you?”

Quinn, who had sitting with his hand resting on his chin, shook his head. “I’ve been trying to figure something out.”

“Lay it on us,” Lindow said. “Maybe we can help.”

Quinn looked at the floor as he thought. “Well… I understand why Burgundy would want to assassinate Oswald. Bannon and Hessen are allies, so they’d want to distract Bannon while they invaded. But what I can’t figure out is why Burgundy would want to invade Hessen in the first place.”

Gwin leaned forward on his cot. “Huh? Didn’t you study any history when you were at that… Magic College?”

“We were just starting on history when I was called back to Bannon,” Quinn replied. He looked to Gwin. “So, if you know the reason why, I’d like to hear it.”

Julius stood with a small smile. “Please allow me, Quinn. I happen to be well-versed in Aurean history, and I would be more than happy to-”

But Fiona interrupted, “Until the year 551, Hessen was a territory ruled by Burgundy. But, after the Second War of the Ronde, and Mother Agnes appeared, the region was made independent, to act as a buffer between Navarro, Burgundy, and Doria. If Burgundy were to invade, it would most likely be to reclaim territory they see as rightfully theirs.”

Quinn looked to Julius. “Is that right, Julius?”

Julius didn’t reply for a moment, before saying flatly, “…That _is_ correct. I should have expected no less from Uther’s second-in-command.”

“Wait, hold on,” Gwin interjected. “The Second War of the Ronde ended…” Gwin counted on his fingers. “…over a hundred and fifty years ago. Does that mean Mother Agnes has been alive that whole time?”

“Indeed she has,” Ingrid replied. Everyone jolted slightly from the inquisitor’s sudden appearance. “The Rings of Power seem to confer unusual amounts of longevity to their wearers, at least those who aren’t killed in battle. And as the Bearer of the Fire Emblem, the most powerful of the Rings, it seems only appropriate that Mother Agnes would live longer than even the average Ringbearer.”

Ingrid then turned her attention to Quinn. “Apologies for the interruption, Quinn, but I need you to come with me. Captain Uther wanted to discuss our course of action after we land in Burgundy.”

Ingrid and Quinn left the crew quarters, and made their way through the ship’s tight corridors to another room near the stern. The room was small, packed with rolled up parchments and books. Uther was inside, closely examining a map laid out on a table before him- it took a few moments for Quinn to realize it was a map of western Burgundy, where they would be landing, enlarged to show detail.

Uther looked up as Ingrid and Quinn entered, “Good, you’re here,” he said.

Quinn stopped at the edge of the table. “You wanted to talk to me, Captain?”

“I did. We need to discuss how we’re to take the fort,” Uther replied. “Unfortunately, our spies have little information about Fort Guyenne and the surrounding region, and what we _do_ know is likely outdated.”

“Well, let’s start with the obvious,” Quinn said as he looked down at the map. “What _do_ we know about the fort?”

“Little, unfortunately,” Uther replied. “Guyenne was one of several forts built along Burgundy’s western border to form a defensive line against Kherson. From that, we can surmise the bulk of its fortifications will be concentrated on its western wall. We don’t have any current information on the fort’s condition, but the woodlands to the south should mask our approach and allow us to make an assessment.”

“What happens after we take the fort?” Quinn asked.

“Once we disembark, this ship will send a chart with its route to the fleet in Tristan,” Ingrid replied. “We’re to hold the fort until the secondary force arrives.”

Quinn made a quick tally in his head of the members of the vanguard- six people in all- and looked up to Uther and Ingrid. “Can we hold the fort with so few people?”

“It is much more difficult to attack a fortress than it is to hold one,” Uther replied. “Even if our meager force outnumbers the enemy, they can keep us at bay for quite some time, assuming the fort is in good enough condition.” Uther folded his arms. “If I’m honest, I’m hoping Guyenne will be in serious disrepair, if not abandoned outright. Taking it will be difficult without any siege engines if it’s not.”

“And if we aren’t so lucky?”

Uther looked down at the map. “…Then, we try to bring down the main gate. There’s a small road approaching from the east.” He touched a road marked on the map with his finger. “And, the gate will be positioned where it would most difficult for the enemy to reach it, so the gate will most likely be there.”

“It seems like you have everything figured out, Captain,” Quinn said, scratching his chin. He wondered for a moment why Mother Agnes had put _him_ in charge of the vanguard, when there was already an experienced military commander to take the reins.

Then, a question came to mind, though Quinn hesitated to ask it for a moment. But in the end, he added, “Captain, since I’m already here, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?” Uther said.

Quinn hesitated again. “…There were rumors among the men that you refused to let Parliament hold a funeral for Oswald. Is that…?”

Uther looked up. His face was set into a hard scowl that made Quinn shudder.  “I’ll tell you what I told Parliament: I will lay my brother to rest when I’ve returned from Burgundy victorious, and restored the peace.” He leaned forward. “And not one moment before.”

Night fell. The sails were furled, and the anchor was dropped. The ship had yet to leave Bannish waters, so it was unlikely they would encounter any enemy vessels. Even so, the vanguard would take turns keeping watch, and Quinn was chosen for the first watch. He patrolled the deck, carefully scanning the dark horizons for any approaching lights, listening for any break in the silence. But the world beyond the short range of his lantern was completely black, and quiet, save for the faint light of the stars overhead.

But the silence was soon interrupted. Not by the ripple of sails or the sloshing of waves, however, but by a strange shuffling from the side of the cabin on the deck. Quinn approached the sound slowly, lantern raised to illuminate the area as much as it could. He found the source of the sound soon enough- a barrel, wobbling slightly as something inside moved about.

A muffled voice in the barrel muttered, “Stupid dockhand… did he have to drop me right on my butt?” The barrel’s lid fell to the deck with a clatter, and a girl stood up, with her back turned to Quinn. She was blonde, with dark skin, and wore black shorts, a black shirt without sleeves, and a black scarf.

“Gail,” Quinn said flatly.

“ _Aaah!_ ” Gail jolted, but quickly relaxed when her gaze fell on Quinn. “Oh. Quinn. You’re just the person I was hoping to see.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I told you-” Gail stumbled slightly as she climbed out of the barrel. “I’m here to help.”

“No, you’re not. When we land, _you’re_ staying on this ship and going back to Tristan.”

“But why!?” she demanded. “The Professor and Malcolm are helping! So, it’s only fair I do my part, too! I can do this! I _know_ I can!”

“Can you?” Quinn stepped towards Gail, looking her in the eye. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you’re strong enough to kill someone?”

Gail faltered for a moment. “Wh-What?”

“This isn’t one of the Professor’s class trips, Gail. We’re not going to this fort to politely ask the Burgundians to leave. We’re going to fight. I don’t _want_ to fight the Burgundians. I don’t _want_ to kill them. But I _will_ , if the choice is to kill the enemy, or let one of my comrades get hurt.”

For a long while, Gail looked away in silence. Then, she turned to Quinn and said with an unexpected amount of firmness, “I can do it. I’m not afraid. I…” She took a breath. “I _know_ what death looks like.”

Quinn walked to the edge of the deck, and leaned against the railing. “So did I.” He lowered his gaze. “But, _seeing_ death is one thing. Killing someone… taking another person’s life is something completely different.” Quinn looked back. “I thought, because I’d _seen_ death, that I could handle it. But… I was wrong. The only reason I could go through with it… was because of _this_.” He held up his hand, showing his Ring.

Gail didn’t say anything.

Quinn’s hand fell back to his side, and he looked out over the ocean. “Look,” he began. “I know you feel like you’re being left out. The Professor and Malcolm are leading the soldiers in Hessen. I’m fighting with Miss Ingrid and the others here. But the Professor gave you a job. And that’s to keep yourself safe. If you do your job, then it means we can do _our_ jobs without having to worry.

Gail looked down, kicking at the deck. “It’s not fair, though,” she muttered. “The Professor is always saying that the only way a person can grow is by pushing themselves past what they think their limits are. But how am I supposed to grow if he’s always trying to protect me?”

For a long while, the two were silent. But then, Quinn looked back, and said, “If you think you're strong enough to take someone’s life- if you can bear that burden, then I won’t stop you from coming with us.”

“Quinn?” Gail asked in surprise.

“I have to say one thing, though: if you _do_ come with us, you’re with us until the end. You can’t back out halfway, alright?”

Gail leaned against the railing next to Quinn, and looked over with a coy smile. “C’mon Quinn, when have I ever backed out on something?”

Quinn gave a small smile in return, before pushing himself away from the railing. “Come on. We need to wake up the others and tell them you’re here.” He sighed. “I just hope Miss Ingrid won’t be too upset.”

All at once, Gail paled. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “ _…I forgot about her._ “

Quinn put a hand on Gail’s shoulder. “Until the end, remember?”

* * *

 “Absolutely not,” Ingrid said sternly.

“ _What!?_ ” Gail cried.

“Miss Ingrid, that’s-” Quinn began.

But Ingrid interrupted: “ _You_ were ordered to remain at the Abbey,” she said, pointing to Gail. “And Quinn… you may be the leader of this vanguard, and nominally my superior, but you do _not_ have the authority to interfere in matters pertaining to another Archon’s retainers.”

“Hey, it’s not like I asked Gail to follow us,” Quinn protested.

Ingrid stood. “Be that as it may, she’s going back to the Abbey. I’m taking her to the brig.” She crossed the cabin and grabbed Gail’s shoulders. “Come along now.”

“Aah- _hey!_ ” Gail protested as Ingrid pushed her. “You don’t have to be so rough!”

Things were going… about as well as Quinn expected them to. After waking Ingrid and bringing her to the deck, he presented Gail and explained what had happened. Though she was doing an excellent job of hiding it, from her tone and the tremble in her hands, he could tell that the inquisitor was fuming.

“Miss Ingrid, Wait.”

Ingrid stopped, but didn’t look to him. “Quinn, Isaac made his decision. I trust that after all this time, you know the Professor well enough to trust his judgement.”

“I trust the Professor. But, Gail followed us even after he ordered her to stay at the Abbey. Even if we turn around and take her back to Tristan, she’ll just try to follow us again. If she’s gonna be out here away from the Abbey, she should at least be someplace we can keep an eye on her.”

Ingrid didn’t answer.

“If anything happens to her, then… I’ll take responsibility for it.”

Ingrid continued to say nothing.

“Come on, Miss Ingrid. When we first met, you asked me to trust you. And I’ve done that for these last three years. So can’t you return the favor and trust _me_ with this one thing?”

Once again, Ingrid was silent. But then, she mumbled, “So we’ve started playing _that_ card, have we?” She then looked back. “Very well. But Quinn, protecting her will be _your_ responsibility. Not the vanguard’s- yours, and yours alone. And if something were to happen, them you’ll be answering to Professor Isaac.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” Quinn replied firmly.

Ingrid let go of Gail. “I’m holding you to that.”

As soon as she was free, Gail sprinted over and leapt on Quinn, almost knocking him to the floor. “You did it!” she cried. “I didn’t think you’d convince her!”

Quinn staggered under the mage’s weight. “Gail, quiet down! You’re gonna wake everyone up!”

Six days passed. According to the Guild navigators, the winds were unusually favorable, and they would arrive sooner than expected. The ship had yet to encounter any other vessels, enemy or otherwise, but was drawing dangerously close to waters disputed between Kherson and the Confederation of Ulrich, so they turned north toward Burgundy. It would take another day before reaching the shore. After the group had gathered their provisions and disembarked, Uther called them to gather round before setting off:

“As of this moment, we are officially in enemy territory. Your priority now is to keep yourself and the people around you alive. Stay vigilant- if anything happens, there won’t be anyone coming to save us.” He mounted his horse and took the reins. “Let’s go.”

And so the group set out, heading into the forest at the edge of the beach. Their progress was slow, as the horses had difficulty maneuvering through the trees and the underbrush. There was enough space between the branches overhead to allow sunlight to shine through, but the woods were strangely quiet- no birds sang, and they encountered no animals, large or small.

“It’s so quiet,” Quinn said.

“Animals tend to flee in the face of large troop movements,” Uther replied.

“If the fortress _is_ occupied, I do hope the fauna here will not inadvertently alert the enemy to our presence,” Julius said.

They pressed on. The strange, slightly shaded sunlight filtering overhead gave the impression that no time was passing, regardless of how long one walked. But after walking for some time, Gail suddenly reached out and grabbed Quinn’s arm. “Quinn. I heard something.”

Quinn tried to pull free of her grasp. “Come on, Gail. Stop playing around.”

The mage didn’t let go- in fact, her grip tightened. “I’m not playing around! Listen!”

He listened intently- after a moment, though faint, he _could_ hear a shuffling of dry leaves as something moved through the surrounding brush. It was fairly close, and seemed to be moving _around_ the group rather than toward them. Meaning, whatever it was had found them long before they became aware of it. “What is that?” he asked.

“It sounds like there’s only one,” Fiona replied in a low voice. “But they’re… moving strangely.”

The others began to draw their weapons slowly. “Is it a patrol?” Gwin asked.

“Unlikely, this far out,” Uther replied. “But can’t rule out any possibility.”

The strange shuffling grew closer, and closer. A bush to the group’s right rustled, and… a wolf with a black coat and yellow eyes emerged from the brush. It looked at them silently, before it let out a small bark and sat, showing no further signs of hostility.

The group lowered their weapons. “A wolf,” Gwin said.

“Wolves aren’t uncommon in this region,” Ingrid said. “Though it _is_ strange to see one alone.”

Only, the wolf wasn’t alone. The brush behind the wolf rustled, and a deep male voice asked, “What is it, Noel?” Then, a man… didn’t emerge so much as simply _appear_ behind the wolf. He was… enormous, wearing a dark green cloak, and a rough tunic and trousers the same color as tree bark. The hood of his cloak was drawn up over his head, though enough of his face was exposed that a bushy, black beard covering the man’s chin could be seen. A roughly-made bow was slung across his chest, and a quiver of equally roughly-made arrows hung from his belt. “Hmm?” He looked surprised as he laid his eyes on the vanguard, as if not expecting them.

Neither the man nor the wolf had made any aggressive movements, but even so, Quinn warily gripped his axe. “Who are you?” he asked.

The man approached Quinn; despite his size, the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath his feet was almost completely inaudible. As the man towered over Quinn, he pulled back his hood and asked, “What do I look like to you?”

Quinn saw the man’s face in full: reddened skin, burned by the sun; thick lips; a broad, flat nose; small, beady black eyes that nonetheless seemed to shine with an uncommon clarity; a heavy brow with no eyebrows; and messy, tangled black hair that reached his shoulders.

Quinn’s first instinct was to reply: _a bandit_. But, that couldn’t be right. A real bandit would’ve attacked by now, or at least threatened them. What’s more, like wolves, bandits were never alone. But he certainly didn’t look like a soldier, either. Just… a strange man, alone in the wilderness.

After a moment of pondering, Quinn replied, “Uh… a hermit?”

The man looked away. “A hermit…” he mused. He then looked to Quinn again. “I suppose I’ve been called worse.” He pulled up his hood once more and stepped back. “I apologize for startling you. It’s been quite some time since I’ve found people this far into the woods. Are you lost, perhaps?”

Quinn glanced over to the others. Uther remained motionless, but Ingrid gave him a slight nod. So, letting go of his axe, he turned back to the man and said, “Actually, we’re looking for something. Do you know this area, sir?”

“Just call me Francis. No need for ‘sir.’” Francis glanced back. “Noel’s already introduced herself, it seems.” The wolf barked again. “And yes, I am quite familiar with this region.”

“We’re looking for a fortress, Fort Guyenne. Could you tell us where it is?”

Francis pointed into the woods ahead of the group. “Fort Guyenne is just a few _milia_ north of here. I can show you the way.” The hooded man began to turn.

But Uther called, “Wait.” Francis looked back wordlessly. “You have absolutely no idea who we are, or why we’ve come here,” Uther said. “Why would you choose to help us?”

“You ask why I would choose to help a group of heavily armed strangers who vastly outnumber me?” Francis asked in return.

Uther didn’t reply, apparently understanding the point Francis was trying to make. The group pressed on once more, this time with the hooded man leading the way. Quinn couldn’t help but marvel at the man- despite his size, he made almost no sound as he crept through the underbrush. Even Lindow, who himself had a light step, remarked, “Never met such a big guy so light on his feet.” The wolf, on the other hand, made all kinds of noise- kicking up leaves and barking at seemingly nothing as it circled the group. Gradually, the forest darkened, though it was impossible to say whether it was because night was approaching, or the woods were beginning to thicken.

But all at once, Francis stopped, holding up his arm. At his signal, Noel fell silent as well.

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked.

But Francis didn’t answer. He simply pointed to something up ahead, and began to creep forward slowly. The vanguard watched, confused, before following again, trying to step as lightly as they could. Through the trees ahead, Quinn could see a clearing, with some kind of… mound in the middle. But as they drew closer, he realized what he was seeing was not a mound, but a stone wall, roughly a hundred _peds_ across and eight _peds_ tall, completely overgrown with ivy and other creeping plants. Fort Guyenne, he assumed.

But again, about ten _peds_ from the break in the trees, Francis stopped, holding up his arm. He pointed to the top of the fortress’s wall. Quinn followed his arm, and realized the vanguard wasn’t alone. Three men stood atop the wall: two in the middle, and one to the far left, looking out over the forest in the west. They were speaking to one another, or to others inside the fort, but because of the distance, their words were indistinct.

“Damn. So the Burgundians _are_ here,” Quinn whispered.

Uther leaned forward, and replied, “No. Look at their equipment. Those aren’t standard to the Burgundian army.” Sure enough, on closer inspection, the three men didn’t wear the wine-red tunics the soldiers at Tol Castell had. In fact, their armor could hardly be called “uniform-” the man on the left wore blue, while the men in the middle wore black and grey. Their armor too was very light, and ranged in condition from pristine to badly worn.

“So, they’re not Burgundy,” Fiona began. “But, they look too clean to be bandits. Who are we dealing with, exactly?”

“Mercenaries, most likely,” Uther replied. “Sent to assess the fort’s condition.”

Gwin approached, as quietly as he could. “So what’s the plan, Boss? Should we wait until they leave?”

Uther watched the fort for several moments. “They might not be leaving any time soon.” He glanced at the others. “Everyone, fan out. We need a count of how many there are.”

But all at once, the wolf perked up, and began to run away from the group, and toward the fort. Francis reached out and hissed, “Noel, come back!” But Noel didn’t listen. She ran into the clearing, and began barking at the men atop the wall.

The two men closest- the man in black, with feathers in his hair, and the other in grey, a small kerchief tied around his neck- tensed for a moment, but relaxed as they looked down at Noel. “Huh,” the man in grey said. “Don’t see many wolves around these parts.” He bent down, trying to wave away Noel. “Go on, get out of here!”

Noel did not obey. She paced at the base of the wall, and leapt up, barking all the while.

The man in grey grabbed a small rock at his feet, muttering “Pesky thing…” before throwing it down to Noel. The wolf was too quick though, and avoided it. Even so, Francis suddenly tensed up, and began marching toward the fort. “Francis!” Quinn called as quietly as he could. But the hooded man ignored him, and stepped out into the open.

The two men jolted, the man in grey almost falling when Francis suddenly appeared. “H-Hold it!” the man in grey said. “State your business here!”

“I’m not anyone you need yourself with,” Francis replied. “I’m just a poor man trying to make a living. Though, I must ask you not throw rocks at my hunting partner.” He beckoned, at at once, the wolf returned to his side.

“Alright then,” the man in grey said warily, kneeling down at the edge of the wall. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you wouldn’t mind…”

As Francis and the man in grey conversed, the man in black turned his gaze outward to the woods. Quinn shivered, and flinched slightly as the man’s gaze swept over him and the others. But the man seemed to take no notice.

…at first. Then his gaze instantly snapped back, directly on Quinn. His expression changed to one of surprise, then… anger. “There’s more of them!” he shouted.

The man in grey stumbled to his feet. “Where!?” But he quickly spotted the group as well. “Aw, jeez, it’s _them!_ ”

The man in black shouted into the fort, “ _Guys_   _we got company!_ Seiren, get the gate! Yuris, go get Quark!” The man in blue leapt down into the fort from the wall, while the feather man grabbed a bow resting at his feet, and aimed an arrow at the vanguard. “ _Don’t think I don’t see you out there!_ ” he shouted, before letting his arrow fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gail: Another holdover from prior to the story’s revision, Gail was inspired in both appearance and personality by Kat from the Gravity Rush series. Her role in the story was also carried over- a student studying at a university for magic who becomes acquainted with the main character. In the original story, she was accompanied by a character inspired by Raven from the same series, and both had much closer ties to Evangelyne, being one of the latter’s many paramours. After the revision, the Raven expy was dropped, to eventually be replaced by Malcolm, and her association was moved to another Archon- in their case, Isaac. In terms of archetypes, she falls somewhere between Merric and Linde, specializing in wind, but whose natural aptitude compensates for her lackluster study skills. If she had a voice actor, it would ideally be Cherami Leigh.


	9. Chapter VI: The First Strike, Part II

**Chapter VI: The First Strike, Part II**

 

Quinn turned, and scrambled to retreat deeper into the trees. He only stopped when the arrow's whistle was suddenly silenced, and he felt a faint _thud_  of something striking the ground through his boots. Stumbling to a halt, he looked back, panting- the arrow had landed in the ground where his heels had been just moments before.

“Great, they know we’re here,” Fiona said, readying her lance. “What now?”

“We’ll circle the fort to see if there are any breaches in their defenses,” Uther ordered. “Use the trees for cover- don’t advance any further than where we are now.” He focused on Fiona. “Fiona, Julius, Quinn, circle around the western side. Everyone else, with me- we’ll scout the eastern half.”

The group split in two as instructed, but before Quinn could follow after Fiona, a hand gripped his shoulder. “Wait,” Lindow said.

“Lindow?” Quinn quickly realized that at some point, Lindow had disappeared as the vanguard approached the fort. “Where have you been?”

“I just finished some scouting of my own,” Lindow said bluntly. “The fort’s defenses are solid- no breaches to speak of. But there _is_ something we can use to our advantage. Just wait.”

So, Quinn and Lindow waited, using the surrounding trees to hide themselves from the men in the fortress. The mercenaries circled along the fortress walls as the others moved away to keep them in sight, turning their attention away from the boy and the thief. “Okay, the way’s clear,” Quinn said, once the mercenaries had their attention focused elsewhere. “What now?”

“Look over there.” Lindow pointed to the wall. “See that spot where the vines are thinner?”

Quinn looked, but he couldn’t see the spot Lindow was talking about- the vines seemed to form a solid layer across the wall. “…I don’t see it,” he admitted.

“Follow me. I’ll show you.” Crouching low, Lindow crept across the clearing to the fort. Once he was at the base of the wall, Lindow pushed his cloak aside, revealing a half-dozen daggers sheathed in a harness on his chest, and drew one. He then started cutting away the vines in front of him.

“Lindow?” Quinn rushed over to the thief, but he ignored Quinn- in silence, Lindow cut at the vines before pulling them aside. Eventually, to Quinn’s shock, Lindow revealed a metal lattice hidden beneath the vines. And beneath that…

“A door,” Quinn said. He looked to Lindow in surprise. “How did you even know it was here?”

“You learn how to pick up on finer details like these in my line of work,” Lindow replied, as he continued to pull the vines aside. “You kinda have to, or one day you step on a hidden pressure plate, and an axe comes down and splits your skull open.”

Quinn blinked. “People… don’t _actually_ do that, do they?”

“You wouldn’t believe half the things I’ve seen, kid.” Lindow stepped back, his work finished. With the vines cleared away, Quinn could see the lattice was a gate of black iron, set into the wall, blocking a wooden door beneath.

“So, can you get it open?” Quinn asked.

“Please, this sort of thing is child’s play for me.” A smile on his face, Lindow sheathed his dagger and pulled two strange tools from his pocket- a pair of thin metal rods, one perfectly straight, the other with a small hook on the end. He stuck both into the gate’s keyhole, and began gently poking and prodding at the mechanism within, trying to open it.

“Strange there’s a door here,” Quinn commented, “even if it’s blocked by a gate.”

“This was probably supposed to be a postern- an escape route, if the fort’s main gate was breached,” Lindow replied. “We should consider ourselves lucky the mercs inside overlooked it.” He paused briefly as he concentrated. “By the way, Quinn, if you’re facing off against an archer, your best strategy is to move laterally, side-to-side. Don’t run away from an arrow, and don’t try to duck _under_ them.”

Before Quinn could reply, a young woman’s voice said, “Hey.”

Quinn jolted, as did Lindow. Quinn whirled about, axe raised, to find himself face-to-face with… Gail.

Gail squealed and fell back. She looked up at Quinn, gasping, eyes wide. Quinn lowered his axe, and took several breaths to calm himself. “Gail,” he said in a low voice. “This really isn’t the time to be sneaking up on people.”

Slowly, Gail climbed back onto her feet, her hand over her heart. As she took a number of deep breaths to calm herself, she noticed the door. “A door…” she said. “Was this always here?” When no one answered, she then asked, “So what’s our plan?”

That… was a good question. Sure, they’d found this door, but what were they supposed to do once they were inside? There was no way to know how many mercenaries were waiting within. Certainly too many for Quinn and Lindow to fight alone- even if Gail was here, there was no way to know how she’d react to battle, and so, couldn’t be relied upon.

But, further pondering was interrupted by a rustling that came to Quinn’s ears- again, Quinn turned, axe ready, but once again, the source of the sound was not an enemy. Rather, it was a wolf with black fur- Noel, stalking ahead of her master. Both were close to the wall, trying to hide themselves from the mercenaries above.

“Francis,” Quinn said, lowering his axe. He realized again that at some point, he’d lost track of the giant man and his companion as well. “I figured you would’ve gotten out of here.”

“Noel is the reason you’re in this situation,” the hooded man replied. “And as her master, I have to take responsibility for her actions. I’ll see this fight through to the end- I owe you that much, at least.”

“Alright, got it!” Lindow said. He yanked at the gate, and with several sharp metallic squeals, it opened. Everyone froze, eyes turned up to the wall in case the commotion caught the mercenaries’ attention… but thankfully, nobody came to investigate. Lindow then pressed his hand against the wooden door. “I’ll take the lead. Everyone, wait here.”

He pushed open the door and crept inside. After a moment, he called, “Okay, we’re clear.” Quinn and the others followed the thief into the darkened doorway. It took a moment for Quinn’s eyes to adjust to the darkness within. Fortunately, no mercenaries were hiding in wait. In fact, the room they found themselves in was strikingly empty- only a few trails in the dusty floor, and a handful of rucksacks that must have belonged to the mercenaries. Lindow looked back. “Let _me_ have a look around,” he whispered. “Keep your voices down. We have the element of surprise for the moment, and I’d rather we keep it for as long as possible.” He left the group, checking the doors at the edges of the room.

“So…” Gail began in a low voice. “Still waiting to hear back about that plan.”

At that moment, Lindow hissed, “Hey, over here!” He was crouched in front of a door, waving them over. The group moved to his side. Lindow cracked open the door and glanced out. “This door goes outside,” he said. “It looks like they haven’t noticed we’ve gone missing yet.” The thief stepped aside, “Have a look for yourself, kid.” Quinn approached the door, and looked through the crack to the outside.

Across from the doorway, beneath a large stone arch, was the fortress gate- the doors were wooden, but blocked by a large, heavy bar of wood and metal. Above the gate stood the man in grey, his attention focused on something outside the walls. The man in blue from earlier stood fairly close by- about ten _peds_ away, a tome in his hands, arm raised toward the gate as though ready to cast a spell at any second; a black-clad, black-haired girl stood next to him, a tome in her hands as well, though she was much more relaxed.

“Come on,” the man in blue muttered. “Come on, come on _come on…_ ”

“You shouldn’t be so tense, Yuris. It’s bad for your circulation,” the black-haired girl said. Her tone was eerily calm, as if completely disconnected from her circumstances.

“How can you be calm at a time like this, Manamia?” the man in blue muttered in reply.

Quinn stepped back. “Francis, Lindow. Have a look.” As they looked through the crack in the door, he asked, “Do you think you can get those mages in front of us?”

Lindow nodded silently. Francis whispered in reply, “I should be able to.”

“Gail, do you think you can get the guy on top of the wall from here?”

She too peered out. “…I think so,” she replied. “Why?”

“I’m gonna make a run for the gate and open it for the others. I can’t get these guys at a distance, so I need all of you to clear the way for me.”

“Wait, what?” Gail asked. “Quinn, don’t tell me _that’s_ your plan! It barely counts as a plan! It’s… a rough draft, at best!”

“Well, it’s best we’ve got on such short notice,” Lindow said. “So, are you in, or what, blondie?”

Gail was quiet for a few moments, before nodding. “I’m in.”

“Alright.” Lindow laid his hand on the door. “Time to introduce ourselves.” He tensed, and pushed the door open. “ _Go!_ ”

Francis emerged from the doorway. He took only a moment to aim, before letting his arrow fly. It struck its target- the black-haired girl. She gasped in pain and surprise, and fell to her knees, looking down at the arrowhead sticking out of her chest. “Oh,” she said, in an eerie calmness. “This is… bad, isn’t it?” The man in blue at her side stumbled, and gasped in surprise, “Wha-” He never finished. At that moment, Lindow grabbed him from behind, clamping a hand over his mouth with one hand, before stabbing the him through the side of his head. He let out a muffled cry, before going limp almost immediately.

Lindow looked back. But although it was her cue, Gail didn’t move. She simply stared, eyes wide, hands hovering above her mouth as if preparing to hold in a scream… or her last meal. “Gail!” Quinn said sharply. Quinn’s word snapped her out of her stupor, and she gripped her tome. “R-Right!” She focused- the pages of her spellbook rippled, the words written on them glowing. A powerful wind began to blow from Gail’s free hand, before she thrust out her arm, sending out a spiraling column of wind.

The man in grey began to turn back. But there was nothing he could have done- before he could finish turning around, the column of air struck him in the back, sending him flying over the edge of the wall and out of sight.

“You’re clear, kid! Get going!” Lindow shouted.

“Right!” And Quinn rushed out into the open.

The world around Quinn vanished. The sounds of shouts and orders faded, replaced only by his own breaths. He ran as fast as he could, all his senses focused on the gate ahead of him. After what felt like an eternity and an instant all at once, he reached the gate. He put himself under the bar, the wooden beam on his shoulder, and pushed. But the bar didn’t move in its catch. “Come on, come on…” he muttered, straining as he tried to lift the enormous bar. It refused to budge, but he still strained with all his might. There was no other way. He continued to push, wondering how the mercenaries had managed to move the bar in the first place, when-

“Haaagh!”

Quinn didn’t look back. He simply dived to the side as far as he could. But he was slow. A burning pain flared in his left arm as he felt a sharp blade run across it. He hit the ground hard, but quickly rose to his feet, readying his axe. Standing between him and the gate was a woman in black with red hair, a sword in each hand. A small trickle of blood flowed down the blade of the sword in her left hand. “Sprightly little thing, aren’tcha?” the woman said with a broad smile.

Quinn knew he wasn’t in a good situation. Even without his fresh wound, his axe was heavier than a sword, and didn’t have the reach. And though there were about ten _peds_ between them, the woman was faster than he was- if she hadn’t cried out, her attack would have been fatal.

“What’s wrong?” the woman asked. “Stage fright?” She tensed. “Alright… let’s see how you handle _this!_ ” She charged.

There was a flash. The world went quiet. But Quinn now knew what it meant. He wouldn’t have to look down at his hand to see the glow of his ring. He watched as the woman whirled, and leapt into the air with both swords raised, before bringing them down. He felt a biting cold as the blades sank into the base of his neck…

Then there was another flash, and the woman was charging at him once again.

Quinn gripped his axe tightly with both hands as the woman leapt. He was certain he could counter her attack, but he would have to time things right. He waited, until her blades began to fall… and swung at her swords with all his strength.

There was a deafening _clang_ as Quinn’s axe struck the woman’s swords. The woman’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open in surprise, as the impact sent one of her swords flying right out of her hand. But more importantly, Quinn’s attack changed the woman’s momentum- she turned, before falling to the ground back-first.

Quinn raised his axe. He wouldn’t hesitate. He _couldn’t_ hesitate. He wouldn’t get another chance. He swung down at the woman, with all the strength he could muster.

The axe struck the woman in the chest. She gasped in pain, and reached up, grabbing at the blade stuck in her chest with her free hand. Then, with a shuddering breath, her hand fell back to her side, and she went limp.

 _"Damn you!_ ” a man roared. Quinn looked back to see a man with black hair, different from the others, charging toward him, sword in hand. Quinn pulled, but his axe wouldn’t budge. He pulled again, but again, it wouldn’t move. In mere moments, the black-haired man reached him, and raised his blade high over his head.

There was no flash. No vision of the future. All Quinn could think to do was raise his arms, a final, feeble attempt to protect himself.

A sharp sound of a blade slicing the air filled Quinn’s ears… followed by a loud _clang_.

Quinn opened his eyes. His arm… was covered in scales, black as coal, his hand replaced by a sharp talon. The man’s sword trembled as he pressed down on Quinn’s arm with all his might, but the blade wouldn’t cut through.

“What the hell is this?” the man grunted. “What kind of… _freak_ are you!?”

Quinn shoved the man back- he was knocked off his feet, and slid back across the ward. He didn’t know where Lindow, Gail, or Francis had gone, but there was no time to look. He had to get this gate open. Where he struggled before, a single shove lifted the gate’s bar with impossible ease, and another shove knocked the gate itself right off its hinges. As the dust settled, galloping hooves reached Quinn’s ears. But it wasn’t Uther that entered through the gate, but Fiona.

She reined in her horse to a halt next to Quinn. “Quinn, how did you- _good gods! Your arm!_ ”

“Don’t worry about it,” Quinn said. “Just focus on getting the rest of those mercenaries.” He grabbed his axe, his newfound strength wrenching it from the woman’s corpse with ease, and stepped forward, looking for the black-haired man.

But he needn’t have bothered. Only the black-haired man remained, who had turned his attention to Lindow. He swung wildly at the thief- with ease, Lindow evaded the attack, before closing in. He made two quick thrusts with his dagger, one in the man’s stomach, and the other in the man’s throat. The black-haired man fell to his knees, his sword falling from his hand. As he bent forward, Lindow raised his dagger and stabbed the man in the back, right over the place his heart would be. The man fell without a sound. As Quinn watched, he couldn’t help but notice that Lindow had been… completely expressionless as he fought the man. Almost like-

“Everyone, to me!” Uther’s voice shouted.

Quinn complied, abandoning his thoughts. As he and the others gathered at the center of the fort, the scales coating his arm seemed to… withdraw into his skin, leaving behind no trace of their presence; the ring, which had been shining its brilliant blue light, went dark once more.

Once he reached Uther’s side, Gwin climbed down from his saddle. “Did we get all of ‘em?” he asked.

The group listened. But there was no further sounds in the fort. “I believe so,” Julius replied.

Uther dismounted, before looking down at Quinn. “Quinn,” he said sternly. “What you did was incredibly reckless. You should have told us you found another way into the fort- we could have coordinated a more effective assault with that information.” He looked over to the broken gate. “…still, your actions allowed us to accomplish our mission. Fort Guyenne is now under our control.”

“ _Haaah._ ” Gail sighed, and sank to her knees. “That was… _way_ more exhausting than I thought it would be.”

“I warned you, didn’t I?” Quinn said. But Quinn soon noticed something rather odd- the others were starting to relax, but Lindow remained strangely tense. “What is it, Lindow?”

The thief looked around the fort for a few moments, before replying, “…we’re a body short. Where’s feather boy?”

Quinn made a count of the bodies: the black-haired man, the man in blue, the black-haired girl, the red-haired woman, and outside the gate, the man in grey. But the man with the feathers in his hair was nowhere to be found.

“ _Heeeeaaaaagh!_ ” A bloodthirsty cry echoed across the fort. From the left, the man with the feathers in his hair leapt down from the wall and charged, sword in hand. But then, in a single, blindingly fast motion, Francis drew an arrow, notched it, drew back his bow, and fired at the man. All at once, the man’s roar was silenced by a sudden choking gasp as the arrow struck the man right in his chest, just beneath his neck. He fell without trying to catch himself, sliding across the earth a few paces before laying still.

“Ah… well there he is,” Lindow said.

After a moment, Uther turned. “Right, that should be the last of them. Any injuries to report?”

“ _Aagh_ … does ‘tired’ count?” Gail groaned.

“Hey, Julius, can you take care of this?” Quinn asked, presenting his arm.

As Julius mended Quinn’s wound, the fort was filled with the harsh squawking of a crow circling overhead. Without hesitating, Ingrid held out her arm, and the crow perched on her forearm. In a deep voice, the crow said, “Inquisitor Ingrid, I bring a report from Mother Agnes.”

“What is it, Orion?” she asked.

“The weather in Bannon has taken a turn and the fleet is unable to launch. Mother Agnes can’t say for certain when the secondary force will be able to depart.”

The group looked at one another in silence. “I see,” Ingrid eventually said after several moments.

“What are we gonna do?” Gwin asked. “The secondary force was supposed to be bringing us additional supplies, right.”

Ingrid turned her gaze towards Quinn. Soon, all members of the vanguard were looking at him. “Uh,” he stammered, until he remembered: he was the leader, technically. Any decisions on what to do fell to him. “…We… should stay here and hold the fort,” he replied.

“Are you sure?” Gail asked, finally rising back to her feet.

“Quinn’s right,” Uther replied. “We brought enough provisions to last for two weeks. And, these mercenaries should have their own cache of supplies. With reinforcements on the way, standing our ground is the wisest option.”

Ingrid looked down to the crow. “We will continue with our original plan and hold the fort. We’ll notify you if any changes occur.”

“Understood,” the crow replied. But rather than taking flight, the crow simply… disappeared, wavering like smoke before dissipating completely.

For a few moments, Uther looked around, surveying the fort, and said, “Well, our first order of business is to get rid of these bodies and secure the fort. Gwin, you’re with me. Julius, Fiona, see if we can get that gate back on its hinges.”

“Excuse me,” Francis suddenly said. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but has anyone seen Noel?”

At that moment, there was the sound of barking, followed by a woman’s scream.

The group looked to the source- outside the fortress’s walls. Before anyone could react, Francis rushed out of the gate. “H-Hey!” Quinn stammered, before chasing after the hooded man. It wasn’t until he was outside the gate that he realized his error- Noel could have been barking at a second group of mercenaries, and the vanguard’s chances of surviving were much greater if they remained in the fortress.

But what he found outside the fortress… was not a second group of mercenaries.

Noel stood in the in the clearing surrounding the fort, staring intently at… a large bronze shield, almost as tall as a person, laying on the ground. Lying in the grass around the shield was a spear, and a bundle of fish tied together. Francis stood behind Noel, bow in hand, though it seemed he was unsure what to make of the sight before him.

The edge of the shield lifted slightly, and a dark face peered out, but when Noel began barking again, the shield dropped back to the ground.

Quinn stepped forward, past Noel. “Come on out.”

The person hiding under the shield didn’t respond. Slowly, Noel approached, sniffing around the edge of the shield.

“ _Nooooo!_ ” There was a tremendous clang as whoever was under the shield burst forth, knocking it aside. Quinn had only the barest glimpse of someone in heavy armor, before they rushed toward him and wrapped their arms around him, almost knocking him off his feet. “ _Get it away! Kill it!_ ” the stranger shouted.

“ _Aaaagh!_ ” Quinn let out a pained groan as the woman squeezed him tightly. “ _Ow! Too tight… too tight!_ ”

Noel bounded around Quinn and the woman, barking. The woman cried out and squeezed even harder. But she froze when she felt something cold touch her neck. “ _Let him go._ ” Ingrid ordered.

The woman looked up, suddenly realizing she was surrounded on all sides by soldiers with their weapons drawn. Ingrid pressed her sword against the woman’s neck slightly. “ _I won’t ask you again_ ,” she said, her voice as cold as winter.

She stepped away from Quinn, arms raised. With her standing still, Quinn could see the woman clearly. The first thing he noticed was… her skin; it was dark, like Gail’s. And like Gail, the woman was blonde, though the her eyes were green, in contrast to Gail’s red eyes. Her armor was strange, too- she wore a breastplate, armlets, and greaves of bronze, over a deep red tunic and skirt.

“You cowards,” the woman growled. “Are you afraid to face a Coean warrior in a fair fight?”

“There’s no such thing as a ‘fair fight’ in war,” Ingrid replied. Even now, her sword hovered just above the woman’s neck, not wavering for even a moment. “The only rules are life, and death.”

Uther stepped forward, lowering his lance slightly. But, he remained tense, ready to respond at a moment’s notice if the woman tried anything. “Mercenary,” he said. “I am Uther, Captain of the Guard and commander of Bannon’s military forces. And as of this moment, you are now our prisoner. You will tell us everything you know about Burgundy’s troop deployments.”

“Bannon?” the mercenary asked, confused. “What the hell are Bannish soldiers doing out here?”

Uther crossed his arms over his breastplate. “Bannon and Burgundy are at war. You were sent here by the Burgundian military to assess the condition of this fort, were you not?”

The mercenary stared at Uther, confused. “ _War?_ What’re you talking about? My company came here to hunt down a group of bandits calling themselves the Dark Wings!”

A dour expression appeared on Ingrid’s face, though only for a moment, and only Quinn saw it.

Uther looked at the mercenary in silence, before shifting his gaze to Ingrid. “Take her to the fort. We’ll get the truth out of her, one way or another.”

* * *

 Night fell soon afterwards. The vanguard quickly settled into the fort, repairing the damaged gate as best they could and clearing away the bodies of the mercenaries.

Uther had questioned the mercenary for well over an hour, but her story didn’t change- her mercenary company had come to hunt a group of bandits (proved thanks to a wanted poster found in her pack), and had no idea that Bannon and Burgundy were at war. In that time, Ingrid said nothing, but continued to wear that strange, dour expression. Something was troubling her, Quinn could tell. But as he stood by the gate, looking out at the small road leading to the fort, he was unsure how to approach her about it.

“Hey, Quinn!” Quinn looked back upon hearing his name. Standing a good distance away was Gwin, out of his armor, wearing an apron around his waist. “What’cha doing hanging out by yourself all the way over there?” he called. “C’mon, food’s ready!”

Quinn looked back, before replying, “I’ll be along in a minute,” and stepped out of the open gate.

The mercenary had been stripped of her weapons and armor, and tied to a stake outside the fortress. As he approached, he could hear the mercenary muttering to herself: “…can’t even pee like this. And they have the nerve to call _me_ uncivilized.” She looked up upon hearing his footsteps. “Oh. It’s you. Here to question me, too?”

“No, I…” Quinn sat down a short distance from the mercenary. Her hands may have been tied, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. “I wanted to say, I’m sorry. About what happened to your company.”

The mercenary eyed Quinn with suspicion. “What’re you apologizing to me for?” she asked. “You’re a soldier. This kind of thing is your job, isn’t it?”

Quinn was quiet for a few moments. “Well, I suppose it _is_ ,” he replied. “But, I don’t _want_ to kill people. Especially if I can avoid it, like with what happened today.”

This time, the mercenary was quiet. But soon, she said, “Everyone who comes into this line of work knows the risks. And, I wish I could say this is the first time a company I ran with all got themselves killed.” She looked away. “Still… I _did_ like those guys, even if I wasn’t with them for long.”

Quinn fell silent, averting his gaze. It took several moments for him to find the resolve to continue. “Anyway,” he began. “I’m here because I wanted to ask you something.”

“ _Oh, here we go again…_ ” the mercenary mumbled.

“Did you… did you really not know?” he asked. “About the war?”

The mercenary took a long breath. “Look,” she began. “News travels slow in these parts. But putting that aside… We came here because we were hired to do a job. And that job was to bring down some bandits. Nothing more. Even if there _is_ a war going on… unless someone’s paying for our blades, then it’s got nothing to do with us.”

Another long silence settled over the two. Then, the mercenary added, “And before you ask, I’m not interested.”

“Huh?” Quinn asked. “Not interested in what?”

The mercenary slowly turned around the stake she was tied to, until her back was to Quinn. “I know mercenaries are paid to fight, but you’ll have to forgive me if I seem reluctant to work for the people who killed my comrades.”

So that’s what it was. She thought Quinn was trying to hire her. In truth, he hadn’t considered it, but then again, he couldn’t exactly fault the mercenary for her response. “…I understand.” He moved closer to the stake, and reached to the ropes binding the mercenary’s wrists.

“What’re you-” but the mercenary’s words trailed off when her binds came undone. She stood, rubbing her wrists, before she looked back at Quinn. “Okay. Now…” She turned. “What’s stopping me from snapping your neck here and now?”

Quinn recognized the edge in the mercenary’s voice- something that was becoming much too familiar. Even so, he forced himself to stay calm and replied, “…Only my faith that you won’t.”

The mercenary stepped towards Quinn. She leaned down to look him in the eye- in terms of height, she must have been just as tall as Uther. “I don’t understand you,” she said, eyes narrowed. “What are you after?”

He tried to keep his resolve… but Quinn stepped back. “I’m not after anything. You don’t know anything about the war, and you don’t want to work with us. So, there’s no point in keeping you prisoner.” Quinn paused for a moment. “All I ask is that you not tell anyone you met us out here.”

The mercenary turned away. “…Twenty thousand. Up front.”

“Huh?”

“The bounty on the Dark Wings was four thousand. I want double that, plus two thousand for each member of my company that you killed. And I want it all up-front.” She looked back. “Those are my terms. If you can pay, then my lance is yours.”

Quinn’s felt his stomach sink. Obviously, he didn’t have that much money. Even the war chest Parliament had given to the vanguard only had 15,000 marks in it, and there was no chance that Ingrid, Uther, or anyone else would approve of spending all of their funds to hire just _one_ mercenary.

The mercenary looked away. “Judging from your silence,” she began, “it seems you’re not interested in in taking up my offer. If that’s the case… then I suppose this is where we part ways.” The mercenary took a step toward the surrounding woods… but all at once froze in place.

Confused, Quinn leaned to look past the mercenary. Noel was sitting on the ground a few steps away. She whined as she looked up at the woman.

“ _Hah…_ ” the mercenary breathed.

Then all at once, Noel stood up, tail wagging, and barked at the mercenary.

“ _Noooooo!_ ” Again, the mercenary rushed towards Quinn and wrapped her arms around him, almost knocking him off his feet. “ _I_ _t’s evil! Get it away from me! Get it away!_ ”

“ _Ghuh!_ ” Even without her armor, the woman’s grip was crushing, and Quinn struggled to breathe.

Noel barked again, and the mercenary’s grip tightened even more. All of her previous bravado evaporated in the wolf’s presence. Quinn wheezed, struggling to breathe. “ _N… Noel,_ ” he gasped. “ _Go… g’outta here_.”

The wolf flattened her ears, and she let out a small whine… but trotted through the gate into the fortress. “ _‘Kay_ . _She’s gone_.”

Quinn felt the woman shift, as though checking the surroundings. After a moment, she let him go, and Quinn took the opportunity to take a deep breath. “It’s… gone,” she said in amazement. “You drove that fiend away! How did you do it!?”

“Uh…” he stammered, unsure of what to make of the mercenary’s sudden shift in personality. “I’m guessing you’re not a fan of wolves.”

The mercenary’s eyes widened and she stepped back, stiffening. “A warrior of Coea fears nothing,” she said sternly. “But… I have no love for those hellhounds.” She glanced to Quinn. “Tell no one of this.”

With those words, an idea came to Quinn. For a moment, he was unsure whether or not he should proceed, but ultimately replied. “I won’t… _if_ you’d be willing to hear me out.”

The mercenary looked at him in silence for a few moments. Then, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Speak, then.”

“I… I can’t pay you for your services right now,” Quinn said slowly. “But, I work for an organization that _can_. If you help us take care of our business here in Burgundy, then once we get back to Bannon, they can pay whatever price you ask for.”

The mercenary simply glared at Quinn silently.

“I-I know… money can’t replace your comrades,” he stammered. “But, after what we did, we can’t just turn you loose without giving you _something_. And, that’s the best I can give you.” The mercenary continued to glare. “At least- let us take you back to a town. It wouldn’t be right for us to leave you out here alone.”

The mercenary kept her silence, but she did something Quinn hadn’t expected; she rested a hand on her chin, and looked down, as if thinking. Even so, it was encouraging- despite the glares, she hadn’t yet rejected his offer outright. Quinn quickly added, “If you come with us, I… I’ll keep Noel away from you.”

Her gaze snapped up. “ _Agreed_.”

Quinn blinked- he hadn’t expected the mercenary to agree so readily. And before he could respond, she said, “Hey, your name was… _Quinn_ , right? I’m Juno. If we’re gonna be working together, then, we should know each other’s names at least.”

“Ah, right,” Quinn replied reflexively. “I should let the others know what happened. Come on.”

He stepped through the gate into the fortress, with Juno following. A few fires had been set around the ward, and other members of the vanguard were gathered around them, eating the meal Gwin had made. “Oh hey, you’re back” Gwin said. “What kept… Wha?” He trailed off as he laid eyes on Juno.

The others turned their attention to him as well, the surprise evident on their faces. All except for Ingrid. Ingrid’s hand flew to her sword, and she began drawing it from its scabbard.

“Put that away,” Juno protested. “I’m not here to fight.”

Ingrid froze, but didn’t sheathe her sword. “Quinn, what is this?” she demanded.

Juno stepped forward before Quinn could respond. “Your friend here is quite the negotiator,” she replied, motioning to Quinn. “For the time being, at least, my lance is his.”

Ingrid remained motionless, sword half-drawn.

“Miss Ingrid,” Quinn began, “I… hired Juno. She’ll be fighting with us, at least for a little while.”

Ingrid remained motionless. But this time, it was not Juno or Quinn who spoke, but Uther: “Stay your blade, Miss Inquisitor.”

Ingrid turned her head, but still didn’t sheathe her sword. “How can you trust this stranger so readily?”

“Mercenaries are loyal first and foremost to their coin purse,” Uther said. “So long as we offer better terms than the enemy, we have nothing to fear.” Juno glowered slightly, but said nothing. “And in any case…” he turned to Juno. “You’re a warrior of Coea, yes?”

Juno puffed out her chest. “Indeed I am,” she boasted.

Uther looked back to Ingrid. “Coeans take pride in upholding their duty and keeping their word. If she has agreed to whatever terms Quinn has provided, then we need not fear betrayal.”

Ingrid was still for a few moments more… but finally sheathed her sword, and relaxed. “Very well,” she said bluntly.

Uther approached the mercenary. “I must apologize for your treatment. But there are conventions of war that must be followed, you understand.”

Juno crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, if you wanna apologize, you can start by giving me back my equipment…”

“Another mouth to feed,” Gwin said with a sigh. “…alright. I’ve still got the fire going anyway.”

Julius looked to Quinn, and said. “I must say Quinn, you seem to have a talent for drawing the most unusual characters to you.”

Quinn scratched his head. “Well, I don’t know about that…” he replied. He then noticed Ingrid, climbing up the stairs to the fortress walls. “Ah- M-Miss Ingrid! Wait!” He clambered up the stairs after her- she only stopped when she reached the top.

He came to a stop in front of her, panting. “Miss Ingrid,” he said. “I told Juno that the Order could pay for her services. The Order can do that, right?”

Ingrid adjusted her cap, narrowing her eyes. “I would have preferred that you discussed this with me first, but… yes. What are her terms?”

“Uh… twenty thousand,” he replied hesitantly. “And, I have to keep Noel away from her.”

Ingrid removed her cap. “I see. So… you’re taking in the wildman as well?”

“I-I…” Quinn stammered. It would be a lie to say he hadn’t considered it- after all, they were in unfamiliar territory, and without current information, a guide would be a great help. But, the sudden hardening in Ingrid’s voice led Quinn to believe that perhaps, such a plan wasn’t the best idea.

“Quinn…” Ingrid said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I believe we’ve discussed what troubles can arise when you place too much trust in people you don’t know.” Her grip tightened, becoming stronger than steel, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Her grip was paralyzing, but it was her gaze that nearly brought Quinn to his knees. “Perhaps I should take some time to… _reiterate_ that lesson.”

Quinn folded, lowering his gaze. “I’m sorry, Miss Ingrid,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll tell Juno the deal’s off. And, I’ll ask Francis to leave.”

Ingrid loosened her grip. “You don’t need to go that far. After all, Mother Agnes named you my superior- I may not _agree_ with all of your decisions, but I _will_ support them.” She turned. “That said, I ask that you think of the people already standing at your side. We can’t stop to help _every_ stray we find.”

* * *

 “Ow…” Quinn mumbled, rubbing his shoulder as he climbed down the fortress stairs. The fires set up earlier were still burning strongly- though the sun had set, there was still some time before the vanguard would end their day in earnest. Still, it would be good to get a proper night’s rest on solid ground, even if it was in a bedroll on the firm ground.

Quinn approached one of the fires and sat by its edge. As he sat, he noticed Francis sitting a short distance away. His quiver and arrows were laid out on the ground in front of him. His bow was there as well, without its string. The hooded man held the bowstring in his hands, inspecting it closely. After rolling it through his fingers for a few moments, he muttered, “Hmm… the string is starting to slacken. I’ll need to replace it soon.”

“Hey, Francis,” Quinn began. “What’re you up to?”

“Just doing a bit of maintenance,” Francis replied.

Silence settled between the two. Quinn scratched his head, wanting to continue, but unsure how. “Uh… listen Francis, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into our problems like this.”

Francis set the bowstring aside and looked to Quinn. “I don’t mind. It’s been a long time since I’ve had company aside from Noel. It’s… refreshing.”

Quinn looked into the fire. “Still, it can’t be easy for you.”

Francis looked up. “What?”

“Well, I’m guessing you’re used to hunting. But, going from shooting wild animals to shooting _people_ , it’s…” Quinn sighed. “Well it wasn’t easy for _me_. I still have nightmares about the first time I killed someone.”

“It wasn’t hard,” Francis replied. He lowered his gaze slightly. “Actually, it frightens me how _easy_ it was for me.”

Quinn leaned toward the hooded man, surprised. “Easy? How is it ‘easy’ for you?”

Francis looked down at his hands. “When… I first started living out here by myself, I didn’t know how to hunt. Tracking, making my own bow and arrows… the first thing I ever brought down was a deer. It was one of the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. When I took aim, my hands started shaking so badly, I didn’t think I could hit my mark. But, when I thought of home, of my tormentors’ faces… my hands _stopped_ shaking.” He closed his hands into fists. “So, whenever I begin to doubt myself, all I do is imagine those faces. Everything is… _easy_ after that.”

Quinn was silent for a moment, reflecting on what Francis had said. Until, something the hooded man had said returned to him: “Your _tormentors?_ ”

Francis looked over, eyes wide. “I…” He then quickly gathered his things and stood. “I’ve said enough. I’m sorry.”

“Francis-” But before Quinn could say anything else, Francis hurried away. Even with the light of the fire, the enormous man dissolved into the shadows, leaving Quinn alone to ponder their conversation in silence.

* * *

 The hour was very late. Most of the vanguard was asleep. But Quinn was awake. It was his time to take up the watch. So, atop the fort’s walls, he looked out over the surrounding darkness, looking and listening for anything unusual. But, aside from the calls of creatures he didn’t know, the world outside the fort was quiet.

“Hey, Quinn,” Gail said. “Watcha up to?”

“Night watch.” He looked over. “Which you’re supposed to be helping me with. Go back to your post.”

But Gail didn’t go back. She simply sat at the edge of the wall, feet dangling over the edge, and looked out over the woods. “Quinn, do you remember when we first met?” she asked, completely ignoring his comment.

Quinn frowned, and turned away. “Can we not talk about that, Gail? It’s embarrassing just to remember.”

She looked back at him. “Hey, if anyone should be embarrassed, it’s _me_ . I mean, you came right up to me, licked your thumb, and rubbed it on my _face_ because you thought I was covered in dirt!”

Quinn flinched. “ _I… I’d never met a Doric person before…”_ he replied in a small voice.

She stood up and turned to face Quinn. “I noticed. You couldn’t keep your eyes off me the first few days.” She leaned in close. “Let me guess, you were thinking of dragging me off to the washrooms to scrub me down? Putting your hands all over-”

“I-I didn’t!” Quinn stammered, trying to put distance between himself and Gail. “I would never!”

But Gail quickly grabbed Quinn’s arm, and held it close against her body. “You know, I wouldn’t have minded,” she said in a low, almost _sultry_ tone. “Just as long as you were gentle.”

Quinn didn’t say anything. He _couldn’t_ say anything. The only sound he could force from his throat was a loud, distressed squeak.

Gail began to shudder, before letting out a long laugh. “Pfft- hahahaha!” She let go and staggered away, still laughing. Soon, she composed herself, wiping a tear from her eyes. “Ah, Quinn, you’re so easy to tease. I’m glad that hasn’t changed.”

Quinn’s reply came in the form of an incomprehensible mumble.

She leaned towards him, hands behind her back. “Aw, Quinn, you should lighten up. The only reason you get so worked up by stuff like that is because you don’t hang around girls enough.”

Quinn looked away. “If by ‘girls’ you mean girls like _you_ , I’d rather be alone.”

Gail frowned. “Quinn, that’s mean.” She turned. “But, if that’s what you want, I guess I’ll just leave you alone.” She began to walk away… and stopped to look back. When she realized Quinn wasn’t following her, she stormed off in a huff.

Quinn sighed as he watched Gail depart. “That girl…” he mumbled. He looked out over the wall, to the darkened forest. “How can she be so… _open?_ ” He huffed. “Or… is it _me_ that’s too closed off?”

* * *

 A heavy mist hung over the fort. The sky was just beginning to turn from black to a deep blue, in the light from the coming dawn. This late, or rather, this _early_ , it was unlikely the fort would be attacked. But, as Ingrid patrolled along the fortress’s walls, she would be prepared for any possibility.

“Miss Inquisitor!”

In surprise, Ingrid turned, and looked down to see who had called her- Captain Uther. “Captain,” she replied. “Good morning.” She didn’t have anything else to say- Uther had already finished his watch, and it was a bit too early for the vanguard to begin their daily tasks.

“I apologize for interrupting your watch,” he began, “but I was hoping I could have a moment of your time.” He held up a pair of wooden swords in his hand. “I’d like to cross swords with you.”

Ingrid furrowed her brow. “That’s… a rather unusual request. May I ask why?”

“I’ve always held the belief that you don’t truly know someone until you’ve fought them. And, I’ve noticed something… _peculiar_ about your swordsmanship. I wanted to observe it for myself.”

For a moment, Ingrid was quiet, before she leapt down to ground level, and held out her hand. “Very well.”

Uther wordlessly tossed one of the wooden swords to the inquisitor. She caught the sword easily, testing its weight for a few moments before taking a fighting stance. “Prepare yourself,” she declared. “I will hold nothing back.”

Uther smiled, taking his own stance. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The fortress was soon filled with the sound of the wooden swords cutting the air, and harsh _clack_ s as the two warriors deflected one another’s attacks. True to her word, Ingrid held nothing back. But she was surprised by the captain’s sword skills- his blows were hard, and fast, but could switch to defend himself in an instant. Ingrid conceded to herself that Uther was one of the most formidable opponents she had ever faced- if they had met on opposing sides on the battlefield, she could not say with confidence that she could best him in a direct fight.

Time passed as the two duelled. Neither could say for how long. But by the end, Uther was sweating profusely, and even Ingrid was noticeably breathing heavier than usual. Ingrid tensed, and swung low at Uther’s leg. But as before, Uther blocked the blow- but he staggered back from the force of the strike, and bent over, breathing hard. “ _Hah… hah…_ ” Uther wiped his brow, before standing upright, sword lowered. “Right. I think that was a fair assessment.”

Ingrid rose up from her stance. “I must say, Captain, you’re a fearsome opponent. I can see your position was well-earned.”

“I could say the same about _you_ , Miss Inquisitor.” He held out his hand. As Ingrid tossed her sword to him, he continued, “Though, I’d like to ask a question, if I may.”

“What is it?”

“I couldn’t help but feel that there was an opening in your guard, yet as hard as I tried, I couldn’t take advantage of it. If it wasn’t for how skillfully you defended yourself, I would’ve believed it to be a product of poor training. Or, perhaps a bad habit you picked up.”

Ingrid adjusted her cap. “You noticed,” she said. “But then, you were supposed to.”

“What do you mean?”

“The opening you saw in my guard was intentional,” Ingrid replied. “The sword style I was trained in revolves around presenting an obvious opening to an opponent, deflecting their attempts to exploit that opening, and retaliating.”

Uther furrowed his brow. “I… see. I’m not sure whether to commend your instructor or to call him a fool. And, I question why such a strange style would exist at all.”

Ingrid clasped her hands behind his back, and turned away her gaze. “I learned it before joining the Order. A chapter of my life that I would rather not discuss at the moment.”

“I see.” Uther smiled. “Still, I must thank you for indulging me. I feel that I’ve come to understand you a little better, Miss Inquisitor.”

Ingrid gave a small smile in return. “Likewise, Captain. It comforts me to know our lives rest in such capable hands.”

Uther laughed boisterously. “Well, a woman as skilled as you _hardly_ needs protection. But I appreciate the vote of confidence all the same.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fiona: The Cain to Gwin’s Abel. When she was first created, I’d planned for her to be much more of a bully to Gwin- her way of toughening him up. Over time though, this was changed to a natural aptitude that caused her to best not just her brother, but almost everyone, in any task- in effect, a personification of the Always Someone Better trope. She was also blonde, like the characters who inspired her (Fiona from Haunting Ground, and Fiora from Xenoblade), though I decided to make her a brunette, like her brother. Her ideal voice actor would be Michelle Ruff.  
> Also, as with Julius, Fiona sharing her name with a previous playable character in the Fire Emblem series was unintended.
> 
> Francis: The resident archer. Unlike a lot of other characters in the story, Francis was not directly inspired by another character- rather he borrows a number of different elements from multiple characters. That said, his concept- a man with a frightening appearance who is much kinder than he appears- was inspired by Benny from Fates, and Gonzales from The Binding Blade. Aspects of his appearance were taken from bandit characters that have appeared throughout the Fire Emblem series. Would ideally be voiced by D. C. Douglas.
> 
> Burgundy: Aurea's France analogue. Named after the historic kingdom and famous winemaking region.
> 
> Supports: Supports are a somewhat integral part of the Fire Emblem series, so I tried to emulate them as best I could for the story. With the story perspective centered mostly on Quinn, it also gives me a chance to develop characters without him around. Since in-game, Supports can happen at any time, all Supports are initially written in script format, with only the dialogue between the characters. From there, I can add in appropriate details from the current chapter if I feel I've reached a point where I should add in a Support conversation.


	10. Chapter VII: Vukodlak

**Chapter VI: Vukodlak**

**Lithe 14, 706**

For three days and nights, the vanguard occupied the fort. In those three days, nothing significant of note occurred- there were no signs the Burgundians were approaching, and the group of bandits Juno’s company had been hunting hadn’t been sighted. For the first time in what felt like ages, Quinn could put himself fully at ease. Moments of peace like this had become rare in his life, it seemed, and he resolved to enjoy it to its fullest.

But those plans were shattered when, on the morning of the fourth day, Gwin’s voice rang out over the fort: “Guys! We’ve got a serious problem!”

The rest of the vanguard gathered in front of the door to a small room, used to store their provisions. With everyone assembled, Uther asked, “What’s the trouble, Gwin?”

Gwin stammered, seemingly at a loss for words, before he finally said, “…Take a look for yourself, Boss,” and opened the door.

Nobody was prepared for what lay within the makeshift larder. Inside, their stores had been ransacked- sacks had been torn open, bread, vegetables, and salted meats were scattered over the small room, all partially eaten. Uther looked over to Gwin sternly. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, Boss,” the knight replied. “I was just gonna get ingredients for breakfast when I found our supplies like… _this_.”

Uther was silent for a moment, before ordering sternly, “Gwin, take inventory. Find out how much is missing.” He then turned as Gwin scurried to inspect the provisions. “Who was on guard last night?” Juno and Gail stepped forward. The captain asked them, “Did the two of you hear anything unusual last night?”

“No, I didn’t hear anything,” Gail replied.

“Don’t look at me,” Juno said, crossing her arms. “I have my own provisions. Don’t need to steal anyone else’s.” The mercenary looked away. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s that bandit with the hellhound.”

“Huh? Wait, are you talking about Francis?” Gail asked. “Why _him?_ ”

The mercenary looked to Gail, incredulous. “You didn’t notice? He leaves to go ‘take care of something,’ and then _this_ happens? Don’t tell me you can’t put two and two together!”

Juno’s suspicions were not without merit: Francis had agreed to guide the vanguard and the secondary force through the region, but had left the day after their battle, saying he needed to gather a few things. He and Noel hadn’t been seen since.

Gwin emerged from the room, a grim expression on his face. “What’s our situation?” Uther asked him.

“It’s… not good.” According to Gwin’s estimates, even with the addition of Gail, Francis, and Juno, the mercenaries’ supply cache, along with their own provisions, would have allowed the vanguard to hold the fort until the end of the month. But whatever, or whoever, had gotten into their supplies had eaten a full third of their provisions; now, just under two weeks’ worth remained.

Uther looked down at Gwin silently, his jaw tightly clenched, before speaking: “Starting tonight, we’ll be changing our night watch arrangements. Only one soldier will be on patrol; the other will remain here to guard the provisions.”

Uther fell silent once more as he surveyed the supplies. “I would _like_ to believe that everyone here is above this,” he said, looking back to the others with a hard, unwavering glare, as though his face was made of stone. “ _Do not_ prove me a liar.”

Night came. Julius and Quinn had been chosen for the first watch- Quinn patrolled, while Julius guarded the supplies. He looked out over the walls, straining his eyes and ears for any kind of disturbance… but he saw nothing. Heard nothing. The world was still, as it was when he saw visions of the future.

Eventually, Quinn turned and looked to the interior of the fort. The inner ward was empty, save for the light shining from a torch in Julius’s hand. “Anything?” Quinn called.

“There have been no disturbances,” Julius replied.

“It’s quiet out there, too,” Quinn said. He climbed down the steps along the wall and approached the priest. “So Julius, any ideas about who could have gotten into our supplies?”

“I will refrain from making idle speculations,” Julius replied flatly.

Quinn fell silent, thinking about possible culprits, when he recalled something: “Juno said that her company came out here to track some bandits. Think it could be them?”

“Unlikely,” Julius replied. “If bandits were able to infiltrate the fort, they would have killed us as we slept _before_ pilfering our supplies. Assuming our culprit is human, they are most probably a single person living off the land, such as Francis.”

“Hold on,” Quinn said sharply. “You aren’t accusing Francis of being the thief, are you?”

But Julius didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his head, as if something had caught his attention; he was tense, his eyes narrow. “Quiet.”

They listened. A strange, faint shuffling came to Quinn’s ears, but he couldn’t determine the source. Julius however turned his gaze to the door. “It seems our guest has returned,” he said in a low voice.

“How?” Quinn asked. “You’ve been standing here the whole time, right?”

“There is only one way to be certain,” Julius answered. He reached for the door…

But Quinn stepped forward. “Let me,” he said, grabbing the axe at his belt. “You’re unarmed, after all.” After Julius gave a small nod, Quinn pushed the door open and stepped inside.

At first, Quinn blinked in confusion, and dropped his axe, as his mind refused to acknowledge what his eyes were seeing. But in the end, his disbelief didn’t change the sight before him: a girl,  who must have been younger than him, was crouched over the provisions, ravenously devouring them. She was incredibly thin, with short, messy black hair, her skin a ghostly pale. But what shocked Quinn the most was that the girl was… completely naked.

“What the-” he stammered.

Instantly, the girl’s gaze snapped toward him and Julius. Her eyes widened at the sight, before she sprinted toward the door. She shoved Quinn, knocking him on his rear, but before the girl could escape, Julius grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her midsection. “Got you!”

The girl thrashed in his grasp, snarling like a wild beast, before twisting in his grip and biting his arm. Julius cried out in pain and recoiled- seeing her chance, the girl bolted, freeing herself from Julius’s grasp, and sprinting through the ward. But through the darkness, Quinn saw something… impossible. Before his eyes, the girl morphed: her pale skin darkened, becoming overgrown with black fur, and she crouched down, her hands becoming paws as she ran on all fours. With incredible speed, the girl- or rather, the wolf bounded up the steps along the wall.

Quinn climbed to his feet and raced after the wolf, but when he reached the top of the wall, the beast was nowhere in sight. It must have leapt from the wall, and retreated into the darkness surrounding the fortress. As before, he listened, but could hear nothing, as though the wolf had completely faded from existence the moment it left his sight.

The sound of footfalls climbing the stairs came to Quinn, and a moment later Julius rushed to his side, breathing heavily, clutching his arm. He looked about, before saying, “Ah… it seems our quarry escaped us.” Even now, his flat tone remained unchanged.

Quinn looked out over the darkness, replaying the events that had just transpired in his head. What he’d seen was completely impossible- surely, just the result of an overactive imagination… but the fresh blood flowing down Julius’s arm couldn’t be so easily dismissed. Hesitantly, he looked to the priest. “You… _did_ see that, right?”

Calmly, Julius pulled something from his pouch, chewed it, and placed it against the bite. He winced, before replying, “If you are referring to whether or not I saw a girl eating our supplies, before transforming into a wolf and retreating… Then I must say that, yes, I did.”

* * *

Ingrid stood with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “…a werewolf?”

“I am fully aware that had our positions been reversed, I would have dismissed your claim as utterly preposterous,” Julius replied. “But I have full confidence in what I witnessed. Furthermore, my testimony aligns with Quinn’s. Is that not enough to convince you?”

Dawn had come. As soon as the others were awake, Quinn and Julius reported their encounter. Although, judging from the others’ expressions, they seemed unconvinced.

Ingrid looked to Quinn silently. But Quinn didn't flinch. “I know what I saw, Miss Ingrid.”

Gwin then stepped forward. “Well, I believe ‘em.” He looked to Uther. “You know Julius doesn’t buy into stuff like ghosts, Boss. And you saw that bite on his arm, too.”

Uther reflected on Gwin’s words in silence, before saying, “Assuming we _are_ dealing with a werewolf, how was it able to sneak into the fort? And more importantly, how will we catch it?”

Ingrid stepped forward without hesitation. “Allow me, Captain. I’ll prove this ‘werewolf’ is nothing more than a figment of the imagination.” She then glanced to Quinn. “Quinn, I trust I can rely on you to help me?”

Quinn jolted, but quickly replied, “Y-Yes. Of course, Miss Ingrid.”

The day passed, and when the sun began to set, Quinn and Ingrid returned to the storeroom. They piled empty sacks and camping supplies on top of themselves- with the room as bare as it was, it was all they could do to hide themselves. Then, with the provisions in sight, the two waited.

And waited.

And waited.

At some point, Quinn began to doze. But a scratching sound roused him. Before he could speak, Ingrid put a hand over his mouth, and pointed. The scratching sounds were coming from a small gap at the base of the wall. The vanguard had inspected the storeroom earlier, but dismissed the gap, as a person- even a child- would never have fit through it. But there was little doubt that _something_ was in the gap, slowly creeping forward.

Eventually, a black paw emerged from the gap. Then a second. Then, a black snout poked through. _Isn’t that…?_ he thought. He almost said it out loud, but caught himself- the last thing they wanted was to alert the beast.

Over several moments, the creature slowly crawled from the gap. Once it was free, it stood and  shook itself off, before climbing onto the to the pile of supplies and ripping open a sack with its teeth. It seemed to take no notice of them- whether its hunger caused the beast to throw caution aside, or the scent of the supplies masked his and Ingrid’s own scents, Quinn couldn’t say. But as it ate, something… peculiar began to happen. The dark fur of the creature disappeared, revealing pale skin underneath. Its snout retracted, and its front legs lengthened, its paws elongating into human hands and feet. The transformation was quiet, undramatic, and in just a few seconds, it was over- the wolf was gone, and in its place crouched the pale girl. She wasted no time in reaching into the sack, stuffing its contents into her mouth. As before, she was naked, but what shocked Quinn so much was just how thin she was- her ribs and spine poked through her back, and the bones in her elbows, knees, and fingers seemed strangely pronounced.

As the girl ate, Ingrid rose from her hiding place. Quinn prepared to rise, but she merely held out her hand, a sign for him to stay. In complete silence, Ingrid crept behind the girl. The girl took no notice at all. Then, Ingrid darted forward, wrapping her arms tightly around the girl’s waist.

The girl let out a piercing scream, and flailed in Ingrid’s arms. She twisted, scratching at Ingrid and snapped her jaws wildly, but the inquisitor’s grip held. All the while, the girl screamed. But Quinn realized the girl’s screams weren’t simply screams. She was… shouting something:

“ _Nnnno! Nno! No, no, no no no no!_ ”

Quinn froze. _That voice_ , he thought to himself. _It’s the same as-_

Suddenly, the storeroom door was thrown open, and flickering torchlight filled the room. “What’s all the commotion?” Gwin called, before staggering back in surprise. “What in the-”

The girl fought even harder, so much so that Ingrid’s grip began to falter. Ingrid raised an arm to wrap it around the girl’s neck, but before she could, the girl snapped her head forward and bit the inquisitor’s arm. Ingrid winced, but didn’t cry out, but her grip loosened enough that the girl tore free from her grip. Ingrid sprang after the girl, shouting “ _Stop her!_ ”

Quinn was the first to react. He dived from his hiding place toward the girl, arms outstretched to grab the girl as she sprinted to the door, but fell short. Gwin then braced himself, and grabbed at the girl as well, but she ducked under his grip and pushed her way past, and ran into the open ward.

But she didn’t get far. Gwin turned and rushed after the girl, shouting " _Oh no you don't!_ " He turned, ramming his shoulder into the girl's back, knocking her off her feet. Before she could rise, he quickly pinned her to the ground. The girl snarled and screamed as she thrashed against him, and he struggled to keep her in place. “I could use a hand over here!” he called.

Quinn and Ingrid scrambled to Gwin's aid, pinning the girl to the ground. “Quinn, get her legs!” Ingrid barked. “And mind yourself- she’s a biter!” Even with the three pinning her down, the girl put up a tremendous fight, screaming and snarling like a beast all the while. In time, her struggles lessened, until all she could manage were growl and the occasional twitch.

The commotion had drawn the attention of the others, who emerged from the inner rooms of the fort and gathered around. “What’s going on?” Uther demanded.

“Take a look at this, Boss!” Gwin said excitedly. “Julius was right! We caught a werewolf!”

The others crowded around- the girl bucked again, but Quinn and the others held her down. “She doesn't look very… _wolfy_ ,” Gail said.

Julius leaned in to look at the girl- the girl jerked as the tried to lunge toward him, but was again held in place. “I only had a glimpse,” he said, “but I can say this _is_ indeed the girl from the prior night.” His attention turned, as though noticing something. “…there appears to be something on her finger.”

“Hm?” Ingrid held up the girl’s hand. In the flickering torchlight, Quinn could see a ring on her finger- it was of tarnished silver, with what appeared to be a wolf’s head carved into it. The inquisitor gasped as soon as she laid eyes on it. “Gods, that’s-”

But her lapse gave the girl an opening. She tore her arm free from Ingrid’s grasp, before bucking up. The sudden shift caused the others to loosen their grip, and she sprang out from underneath them, quickly climbing to her feet and running. “A-After her!” Quinn shouted.

The girl didn’t get far though. She ran headfirst into something, and fell back on her rear. She looked, as did the others, to see Francis suddenly standing in the fort. The hooded man looked down at the girl, but quickly turned away his gaze. “Have… I come at a bad time?” he asked.

As the girl looked up at Francis, she said, slowly, “ _Ma… mas… ter?_ ” Then she sprang to her feet. “ _Master!_ ”

“ _Master?_ ” Gwin repeated, incredulous.

The girl reached out to Francis, but stopped, looking at her hands. She stepped back, still looking at her arms, as though seeing them for the first time. She looked up at Francis, then crouched down. Black fur erupted from beneath her skin, and then the girl was gone, leaving a black wolf standing in her place- she barked at Francis, tail wagging. Quinn gasped. Not because of the transformation, though. In the light of torches, and standing by the feet of her master, the young man recognized the wolf in an instant.

As did Francis. In shock, the hooded man knelt down, reaching out to the wolf- the wolf readily pressed her head against his outstretched hand. “…N… Noel?”

* * *

 “…And, you knew nothing about this?” Ingrid asked coldly.

“No,” Francis replied. “I’ll admit Noel always had an uncommon cleverness… but I never believed her to be anything more than an ordinary wolf.”

Ingrid crossed her arms over her chest, her cold gaze lowered in thought. “I see.”

Some time had passed. The sky overhead slowly brightened in the light of the coming dawn. Ingrid had taken Francis aside to question him about Noel, but it seemed he had been just as unaware of her secret as the rest of the vanguard. As for Noel herself, Gail and Fiona had taken her into one of the fort’s inner rooms, in an effort to dress her and give her some level of modesty. Judging from the periodic screams and clattering… things didn’t seem to be going well for the two.

For a long while, Ingrid was quiet, before turning her gaze to Uther. “I apologize, Captain, but our situation has changed. We need to leave.”

“Wait, _what!_ ” Quinn shouted. “Why?”

“Indeed,” Uther added. “Why would we do that?”

Ingrid replied bluntly, “Order protocol requires that any agent who discovers a Ring of Power must bring it, and any potential bearers, to the nearest branch headquarters. In this case, that would be the Order stronghold in Corburg.”

Uther’s eyes widened. “Then, that girl has a Ring of Power?” he asked.

“Precisely,” Ingrid replied. “The girl’s abilities matches our records’ description of Vukodlak, a Ring that was held at the Order’s base at Fort Felhold. We thought it was lost forever after Kherson attacked the fort in their conquest of Sythia, but it seems it’s returned to us.”

“Well, this news _does_ complicate things.” Now, Uther was silent. “Has there been word from the fleet?”

Ingrid crossed her arms over her chest. “Orion has been relaying information to me about the situation in Tristan. Storms have continued to prevent any ships from setting sail from Port Arthur.”

“Then it seems we’re on our own…” Uther thought in silence, his hand on his chin, before he finally said, “Very well. I’ll tell the others to begin preparations to depart.”

Quinn’s gaze snapped to Uther. “What? But what about the secondary force? Who’s gonna hold the fort until they get here?”

"If our supplies were still intact, then I would agree with you” Uther replied. “But in our current condition, and with no way of knowing when reinforcements will arrive, we need to concentrate on _our_ own survival. And our best chance is to rendezvous with the Hessian army.”

“Then…” Quinn’s mind raced as he tried to think of a plan. “ _We_ can take Noel to Courburg ourselves. Me and Miss Ingrid. This has to do with the Order, and not the army, after all. Then _you_ wouldn’t have to abandon the fort.” He smiled slightly, proud of his quick thinking. He added, “And, without us here, the supplies should last at least a little longer.”

But Ingrid’s response deflated his meager sense of accomplishment: “We would need to take provisions of our own on the journey to Corburg. That wouldn’t solve the supply problem.”

“Why are you so opposed to leaving the fort, Quinn?” Uther suddenly asked.

“I-I…” he stammered. He thought back to the mercenaries. They had no idea there was a war. They had done nothing, other than be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he and the others had killed them all the same. The vanguard had paid a high price to claim Fort Guyenne. And if they left, then those people will have died for absolutely no reason at all. “It just… doesn’t seem right to just leave the fort, after all the fighting we did to capture it.”

Ingrid opened her mouth. But before she could say anything, Uther reached out, and laid a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Son…” he began. “Do you know what makes a good soldier?”

“Uh…” Quinn’s mind raced with potential answers. There were the obvious things: a strong sword arm. Willingness to follow orders. The resolve to not flee before the enemy. Perhaps, the ability to look at the battlefield, and anticipate how the enemy will advance. But while those seemed important, he was certain those weren’t the answers Uther was looking for.

“The answer…” Uther continued, “is flexibility. In war, your situation can change as easily as the winds. And your ability to react to changing situations will decide whether you live to see the end of the day.”

Quinn didn’t say anything.

“Quinn,” Ingrid then began. “Uther is a skilled military commander. If he agrees that leaving the fort is our best option, then we can trust his judgment. But that aside…” Ingrid’s tone darkened. “As an Archon, you of all people must understand how dangerous the Rings of Power are. We cannot allow them to fall into the hands of those who would misuse them, whether they belong to Burgundy, Kherson, or lowly brigands. If you’re unwilling to leave this place, then I can’t force you to- I don’t have that authority. But I _do_ have my orders. And I _will_ carry them out.”

Again, Quinn didn’t answer. Because, he had no arguments against Uther and Ingrid. They were both right. Their survival was more important that his own feelings, and even if the girl’s Ring could only turn her into a wolf, it was an advantage they couldn’t let Burgundy get ahold of. So, rather than arguing further, he asked, “…How do we get to Corburg from here?”

Both Uther and Ingrid were quiet for a moment, before the inquisitor replied, “Our best chance would be to travel north through the Aneto Mountains until we reach the border. Once we cross into Hessen, we’ll travel along the southern edge of the Cauldron until we reach Corburg.”

“Will that work?” Quinn asked. “Captain Uther said there were other forts along the border.”

“That’s true,” Uther replied. “But they’ll likely be lightly manned, as the Browns would’ve moved the bulk of their forces to the Hessian border. And in any case, the soldiers stationed at the forts would avoid making any large-scale maneuvers. The last thing Burgundy would want is to provoke Kherson and end up fighting a war on two fronts.”

“With a group of our size, it should take about a week for us to reach Mt. Felhold,” Ingrid said. “From there, it would take another two-to-three days to reach Corburg.”

“Very well,” Uther replied. “I’ll pass on the news to the others.” He turned and left the group.

Francis, who had been quiet until now, then stepped forward. “You’re taking Noel, then?” he asked.

Ingrid looked to the hooded man. “We are,” she replied. “You can try to stop up. But I promise you- it is a fight you will not win.” As she said this, she rested a hand on the hilt of her sword.

Francis stepped forward, unafraid. He towered over Ingrid, but she too didn’t back down. “I’m going with her,” he stated. “I’ll admit, I never would have dreamed she was actually human. But that doesn’t change things. She’s my companion- my partner. And I won’t abandon her.”

Ingrid’s hand left her sword. “You can come as far as the Cathedral’s gates,” she said. "But the moment she crosses that threshold, she’ll enter the Order’s custody.”

Francis was quiet for a moment, before crossing his arms. “I’m… not as familiar with the northern Anetos,” he began. “But I’m familiar enough with the movements of Burgundian soldiers that I can steer you away from any forts we come across.”

Quinn stepped forward, sensing Francis’s trepidation. “Hey, Francis, the Order isn’t so bad,” he said. “They took me in a few years-”

There was a slam of wood against stone. Noel sprinted out of the doorway, and looked back, letting out a loud hiss. It seems that, as expected, Gail and Fiona’s efforts weren’t going so well- what clothing the two had managed to put on her, Noel had torn to pieces.

Gail and Fiona emerged as well- both were covered in small cuts and bruises. “C’mon, it’s not that bad!” Gail called, holding up a boot. “Just put it on!”

Noel hissed loudly again.

Gail inched toward the girl. “It’s fine if you don’t like heavy stuff, but… what if you step on a rock, or something?”

Noel hissed again. But she stopped and looked back when Ingrid laid a hand on her shoulder. “Come now,” she said. “You should be kinder to your comrades.” Her tone was much different than usual. Kinder. Gentler. The same tone she’d used with Quinn, when he’d first awakened his Ring.

Noel’s growls quieted, and her tension faded. “ _Haaaah_ ,” she “said.”

“I know all of this must be new and frightening for you,” Ingrid continued. “But I promise, everyone here wants nothing more than to help you. Now, come along.” She turned her attention to Gail and Fiona. “Let me handle things.”

“Uh… be my guest,” Fiona replied hesitantly.

Ingrid gently pushed Noel forward. “Come on. Let’s see if we can find something to your liking, alright?”

“ _Ghhiihh_ ,” Noel growled slightly, but allowed Ingrid to lead her back inside.

* * *

 “…Let’s try again: ‘My name is Noel.’”

“Noel is… Noel!” Noel said.

Ingrid let out a small sigh. “Not quite. ‘My name is Noel.’”

Noel stomped and turned to Ingrid. “But, Noel _is_ Noel, Scary Lady!”

Gail burst out laughing, earning a harsh glare from Ingrid, before the inquisitor turned her attention back to Noel. “Let’s try something different. You remember what everyone’s names are, don’t you?” Ingrid pointed to Francis.

“Master!” Noel shouted excitedly. Ingrid pointed to Quinn. “Good guy!” She pointed to herself. “Scary lady!”

Ingrid simply let out another long sigh in reply.

Julius approached. “Miss Inquisitor, Noel has already made considerable progress in the few days she has been with us,” he said. “Pressing her excessively may be unwise.”

“You may be right about that- ah, _hey!_ ” Ingrid darted forward, grabbing Noel’s wrists to stop her from lifting up her shirt.

Noel groaned. “But is scratchy.” Ingrid had partially succeeded where Gail and Fiona had failed, dressing Noel in one of her spare undershirts and pair of pants. Though looking at it now, one would be hard-pressed to believe the outfit had once belonged to the inquisitor- Noel had torn away the parts she found uncomfortable, leaving her arms, stomach, and most of her legs exposed. And despite Ingrid’s best efforts, Noel refused to wear shoes.

“I know,” Ingrid said softly. “But please bear with it. Once we reach the Cathedral, the Order can make new clothes for you out of any material you like.”

Four days had passed since the vanguard left the fort, with Francis and Noel at the front to guide them. The trek thus far had been difficult- the vanguard moved in both day and night, over terrain that was difficult for man, horse, and wolf alike. All were tired, but their breakneck pace would soon be rewarded- according to Miss Ingrid, they were ahead of schedule, and would reach Fort Felhold before sunset.

Juno watched the inquisitor and Noel in silence, before saying out loud, “She’s a strange one, isn’t she?”

Quinn looked over to her. “Who? Miss Ingrid?”

“So that’s her name…  but yeah. Doesn’t strike me as the type to have a soft spot for kids.” The mercenary looked to Quinn. “Not to mention she’s always sneaking off to chat with ravens.”

Gail suddenly bounded up to the two. “Oh, those are familiars of Master Orion!” she said excitedly.

“Familiars?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah. Master Orion’s Ring of Power, Coronis, lets him summon familiars in the form of crows. He can see through the crow’s eyes, and even talk to people through them, even if they’re really far away,” Gail said. “Coronis is really important to the Order, since it lets our agents talk to each other.”

Gwin rode up. “Wait, that’s what that was about?” He put a hand on his chest and breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. ‘Cause I saw that, and I thought I was losing my mind…”

The vanguard pressed on. But then, as they crossed a narrow ledge on a particularly steep mountainside, Francis held up his hand, signalling for the group to stop, before pointing ahead.

In the wide, sweeping plains at the foot of the mountain was an army. It was small, and split into three parts, but each section on its own would outnumber the vanguard three-to-one. The army moved across the plains in large blocks, seemingly practicing maneuvers in formation.

“Look at the size of it,” Quinn muttered.

“I’ve seen troops marching in those fields before,” Francis said. “We must be close to Fort Artois.”

“What’s that?” Quinn asked.

Ingrid stepped forward, looking out over the army below. “A fort guarding the Artois Pass. It’s one of the few passes through the Anetos, and connects Burgundy to Sythia. The Burgundians have always kept a strong military presence here because of it. At first, it was to stop Sythian raiders; now, Artois would be Burgundy’s first line of defense if Kherson were to attempt an invasion over land.”

_Kherson…_ Quinn thought. That name kept popping up. He’d have to ask why it was so important to everyone. But before he could, Juno called, “Hey! Don’t mean to interrupt the history lesson, but what are we gonna do about that?” She pointed to the marching army.

“We wait,” Uther replied. “With such a large force nearby, advancing any further would be unwise.”

So, the vanguard waited, watching the army in shifts. The Burgundians continued their maneuvers for hours; it wasn’t until the sun had almost completely set that the army finally broke formation and left the field. Julius, who had been watching the army, looked back to the others and said, “The Burgundians have departed.” He quietly added, “I have to admire their dedication.”

“I don’t blame them,” Uther replied. “Anyone would be on edge with Kherson on their doorstep.” He gripped his reins tightly. “Let’s move.”

The vanguard set out. Though the path was already especially treacherous in the dark, no one dared to light any torches- with an enemy fort so close, the risk of being discovered was simply too great. Gradually though, their path widened, and they vanguard found themselves on more stable ground. Relatively- the mountainside was still full of outcroppings, tree roots, and holes hidden in the dark that could send a person sprawling to the ground.

“ _Aaah!_ ” Gail stumbled, but managed to keep herself from falling.

“Keep your voice down,” Ingrid hissed. “There could be sentries.”

“This is stupid,” Gail complained. “Can’t we light at least _one_ torch? Then we can-”

Suddenly, Noel stopped. She was… growling- if she was still in her wolf form, then surely her hackles would have been raised, and her fur standing on end. The reason soon became apparent- a regular pulse in the ground beneath their feet, caused by dozens of feet hitting the ground all at once.

“Night marching…” Julius muttered. “Again one has to admire their dedication.”

“Well admire at a safe distance!” Fiona hissed. “We’ve gotta get out of here!”

“Move west!” Uther ordered. “They won’t dare get too close to the border!”

The vanguard ran. Quinn stumbled over tree roots, bushes, and dips and inclines in the ground, but all the while he kept running, not daring to stop for even a moment. He couldn’t say how long he ran, but soon, the sound of his comrades’ footfalls faded, masked by his own heavy breaths. It wasn’t until the ground beneath him finally leveled out that Quinn finally came to a stop. He stumbled to a halt and bent over, breathing heavily. When he finally caught his breath, he stood to take in his surroundings.

Only… there was nothing. No lights. No landmarks. Nobody else. Just a seemingly endless field of chest-high grass that stretched into the darkness as far as the eye could see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noel: The obligatory “young girl shapeshifter,” Noel was inspired by the Wolfskin of Fates, and to a lesser extent, the Taguel of Awakening and the Manaketes of the series as a whole. She takes her name from Noel Vermillion of Blazblue, though her personality and manner of speech have more in common with Taokaka (even borrowing some of the nicknames Tao uses) and Shio from God Eater, with her appearance being inspired mainly by Nana Kozuki of God Eater 2. Would ideally be voiced by Cristina Valenzuela.  
> Noel’s Ring of Power, Vukodlak, translates literally as “wolf-skin,” and is the term used to refer to the local variant of werewolves. It appearance and abilities were inspired by the Ring of Hircine from Skyrim.


	11. Chapter VIII: Dullahan

**Ch. VIII: Dullahan**

 

The world was quiet, save for the faint whistling as the wind blew through the tall grass. Such quiet after being pursued by an enemy would normally be comforting… but for Quinn, this desolation was anything but.

“Miss Ingrid!” he shouted. “Captain!” His voice echoed over the rolling grass… but no answer came. He shouted again, “ _Captain! Miss Ingrid!_ ” But again, there was no answer. He whirled around, shivering as a cold sweat overcame him. He thought, there would be a trail, a path he’d made as he pushed through the grass… but there was nothing. No signs to indicate which direction he’d come from.

He looked up to the sky- above him, unfamiliar stars glinted. Under Professor Isaac’s tutelage at the College, he’d read in books about how sailors and other navigators could use the stars to orient themselves. But… he didn’t have that skill. And even if he did know it, it wouldn’t help him find the others. He looked around- all around him, the grass swayed in the breeze, but there were no lights in the darkness, nothing to indicate another living soul was anywhere nearby.

Quinn sat down, the tall grass engulfing him completely. He put his hand on his chest, and made himself take deep breaths. He had to remain calm. He had to come up with a plan. “Alright…” he said to himself. “What can we do?”

In truth, there was little he could do. No one had answered his calls, and he didn’t have any torches… not that lighting a fire with all this grass about would be a very wise decision. And trying to find his way in the dark would probably only bring him further away from the others, rather than closer. He said out loud again, “I… guess I’ll have to wait until morning.”

Quinn couldn’t say when he’d fallen asleep, but he was awakened by the sensation of something cold and wet touching his face. He jolted, and crawled back instinctively. But he found himself facing not an enemy or wild beast, but a black wolf, which morphed into a black-haired girl. “Good guy!” Noel exclaimed.

“Noel,” Quinn replied. “How did you…” He trailed off, realizing tracking someone by their scent would have been easy for a wolf, and asked instead, “Where’s everyone else?”

Noel touched her chin with her finger, thinking, before exclaiming, “Noel forgot!”

Quinn sighed. But, the grass around them rustled, and Francis emerged. “you found him,” he said. “Excellent work, Noel.” He turned to Quinn. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Quinn replied, quickly rising to his feet. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Looking for _you_ ,” he replied. He beckoned- Noel leapt up and began following the hooded man, and Quinn followed her. “Everyone else stopped before crossing the treeline and regrouped. That’s when we noticed you were missing.”

It didn’t take long for Francis to guide Quinn to the others, gathered before the break separating the forest from the grassy fields. As soon as she laid eyes on him, Ingrid raced towards them arms outstretched as though preparing an embrace. “ _Quinn!_ ” But as soon as she reached Quinn, she stopped, as if realizing she wasn’t alone. She merely laid her hands on his shoulders and gripped him firmly. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Quinn, oh thank goodness!” Another person rushed toward the two, much less reserved about her display of affection, nearly knocking Quinn off his feet with her embrace. “We all thought you’d been captured!” Gail rambled. “Miss Ingrid was up all night making everyone look for you!”

Quinn gently pushed the two away. “I’m just fine, really. See?” He looked around. “But, uh… where are we exactly?”

“An excellent question…” Uther replied. The captain looked out over the field, the mountains at his back. Before him, the swaying grass seemed to stretch on forever- there were no trees, no breaks, no landmarks of any kind.

“I believe _I_ may know where we are,” Julius said. Sweeping his gaze over their surroundings, he said, “I have not seen it for myself, but I believe we may be in the Sythic Sea.”

“Uh… you might wanna get a new pair of glasses,” Juno said, looking around. “I’m not seeing any water around here.”

Julius adjusted his glasses, eyes narrowed. “The ‘Sythic Sea’ is a name referring to the grasslands that dominate most of northern Sythia. It is a poetic name that does not refer to any actual bodies of water.”

Quinn looked out over the vast plain. He could understand how this place got such a name- the grass rippling under the winds _did_ resemble swelling waves on the ocean.

“Wait, back up- did you say _Sythia?_ ” Fiona asked. She paled. “Then… that means…”

Lindow crossed his arms over his chest, replying, “We’re on Kherson’s turf.”

“Well,” Gwin began, “at least we don’t have to worry about the Browns finding us.”

“We need to press forward,” Uther said. “We can’t risk going back the way we came.”

“But where are we supposed to go?” Quinn asked.

The group was quiet, before Julius stepped forward. He looked around, before pointing to something to the north. “There.” Quinn followed the priest’s arm, to a jagged mountain that resembled an arrowhead. It was massive, rising even higher than the mountains surrounding it. “Mt. Felhold,” he said. “Aurea’s tallest mountain.”

“Felhold?” Quinn asked, looking to Ingrid. “Like that fort you mentioned, Miss Ingrid?”

Ingrid nodded. “The very same. Fort Felhold lies at the foot of that mountain. And what’s more, it’s close to the Hessian border.”

“Then we have our destination,” Uther replied. “Let’s move.” With that, the captain spurred his horse forward.

The vanguard set out, advancing toward the massive mountain. Quinn had noticed a strange dark patch on the mountainside facing towards them. But the vanguard drew closer, the patch began to change- in time, he realized it wasn’t some strange rock formation, but rather, nothing at all. A massive, perfectly circular hole had been blasted into the side of Mt. Felhold- the dark patch was the shadowed interior of this hole, where sunlight couldn’t reach. “Wow,” Gwin said. “It really _does_ have a hole in it.”

“How’d it get there?” Quinn asked.

“That hole was caused by Bannon’s Ring of Power, Balor, during the first War of the Ronde,” Ingrid explained. “It is the only time that Balor missed its intended target.”

“Miss Inquisitor,” Uther interrupted. “Please, allow me to tell this tale. It is my family’s history, after all.” Ingrid obliged, and Uther told his tale.

It began in the year 414, thirty-one years after Bannon had been settled by the Burgundians and shortly after the Conquest of Morley. A secret meeting was held between the Morleyan clans- their king had been slain in battle by the Burgundians, and they debated whether to continue to fight, or surrender. Then, a mysterious white-haired woman appeared amongst them, and presented a ring embedded with a red gemstone. She said, “Whosoever amongst you that can wear this ring and live, he shall have the strength to drive the foreigners from this land and unite the isles of Bannon under his name.” A few men stepped forward. But when the first slipped the ring onto his finger, his body burst into flame, and he burned until only ashes remained. Another tried, but he too was burned to ash. After, none dared to even touch the ring. Save for one.

His name was Oswald, of Clan Maybury, a clan so small many didn’t recognize the name. But, when he put on the ring, rather than burning, he looked to the sky, and a brilliant beam of light shone from his eyes. In awe, the other clan leaders knelt before Oswald, pledging their service to him. Oswald himself looked for the woman, to ask her about the ring. But, the woman had gone, just as suddenly as she had appeared. Unperturbed, Oswald declared that they would continue to fight against the Burgundians.

When they met the Burgundians on the battlefield days later, everyone learned the ring’s true, terrifying power. As before, beams of light shone from Oswald’s eyes- the beams incinerated anything they touched, and could bend at impossible angles to ensure they never missed their target. In terror, the Burgundians fled, abandoning towns, forts, and in time, Morley itself, sailing back to the Bannish mainland. Emboldened, Oswald and the Morleyans pursued the Burgundians, cutting a swath through the main island, before reaching Tristan. Here, they killed the island’s magistrate and burned down his manor. A few Burgundians fled back to their homeland, but Oswald didn’t follow them. His victory was celebrated, and he was formally crowned as king of both Morley and Bannon.

News of Oswald’s victory eventually reached Burgundy. Outraged, the Burgundians quickly raised and launched a fleet to take back the islands. But Oswald was ready. With Balor, he sank ship after ship. But the ring began to take its toll. And when only a few ships remained, the heat from Balor’s beams caused his eyes to burst in their sockets. The last beam Oswald fired shot over the sea, and disappeared over the horizon. Still, Oswald had sunk sixteen Burgundian ships, and Bannish forces made short work of the survivors. The Burgundians would attempt to invade twice more, but each force was driven back, and the First War of the Ronde ended with Bannon keeping its independence. For his valor in driving back the Burgundians, Oswald was beloved by the native Bannish people, and was seen as a just king, despite his blindness.

Quinn was silent, marveling at the story Uther had told. He’d never had the chance to study history while being taught by Professor Isaac, so he had no idea that Bannon had such a story behind it. It certainly made his travels thus far seem… completely unremarkable in comparison. But Quinn’s ruminations were interrupted when Julius spoke up: “That was quite the tale, Captain. I must admit, you never struck me as dramaturge.”

Uther laughed, scratching his beard. “Hah, I hardly do the tale justice,” he replied. “If only I was half the storyteller my grandfather was…” He looked ahead. “Ah. It’s seems we’ve arrived.”

Just like with the Abbey, the name of “Fort Felhold” was far more modest than the reality- the group of buildings nestled at the base of the mountain was much closer to a town in size than a simple fortress. The walls were crumbling, covered in worn scars of a battle long past; but beneath the damage and the overgrowth, there was no mistaking those white walls, those silver roof tiles. Just as Ingrid had said, this place had once belonged to the Order.

The group passed through the massive rotting gates. The outer walls had hidden the damage within. Scattered everywhere were massive stones bigger than a man, no doubt launched by catapults. Not a single building stood unscathed, whether crushed by stones, or blackened by flames. Grass, wild flowers, and vines grew everywhere, from cracks in the stones beneath their feet, to the roofs above them- it was apparent that whatever had happened, no human had dared set foot in this place since. “This is some pretty serious damage,” Juno said, looking at one of the damaged buildings. “A lot worse than what your average bandit could do. What happened here?”

“It was about… seventy years ago now, shortly after a conflict known as Gaspar’s Revolt,” Ingrid said. She was stiff, her eyes focused ahead. “Kherson began moving into Sythia, allegedly to bring local raiders to heel. But then, they attacked Felhold, the Order’s headquarters in Sythia without warning. Officially, Kherson claims Sythian raiders were using Felhold for refuge, though Mother Agnes and Master Evangelyne believe that in truth, they were trying to seize the Ring here, Vukodlak. After Felhold had fallen, the Khersonians stormed the Order stronghold in their capital, Mozyr, and expelled all Order agents within their borders. From there, they’ve continued to expand, conquering the nations of western Aurea one after another.

“Kherson came to a halt after conquering Alytus some twenty years ago, but there are concerns they could resume their expansion any day. Hessen and Burgundy are the most worried, since they share borders with Kherson.”

The group finally came to a stop near the center of the fort. Their path had led them to a small square- the road behind led back to the gate, while the road ahead led to a crumbling keep that nonetheless stood above the other buildings. “We made it,” Quinn said.

“Should we set up camp here, Captain?” Fiona asked

“Certainly,” Uther replied, and dismounted. “I believe we’ve more than earned a rest.”

Gwin leapt out of his saddle. “Great! It’ll be nice to put some proper food in everyone’s stomachs. I just hope I haven’t gotten too rusty over the last few days.”

The small square buzzed with activity as the vanguard unpacked their equipment. Quinn busied himself by raising the tents, aided by Uther. Although they were surrounded by buildings, Uther advised they not enter them, fearing that the damage and decay they had suffered could cause them to collapse from any disturbances.

With a deep breath, Quinn stepped away from his work, and wiped his brow. He looked around- the others were similarly busying themselves… all except one. Noel stood nearby at the edge of their camp, motionless. “Noel?” he called. But she didn’t respond. He moved closer to her- she remained motionless, staring intently at one of the buildings at the edge of the square. “Noel, what is it?”

“Something here,” she replied.

Quinn furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, ‘something?’”

“No talk. Listen.”

Quinn listened. But above the noise of the others, he couldn’t hear anything. “I think that’s just-” But then, beneath the din, he noticed something- a regular _tap_ sound. He looked back at the others- the _taps_ continued, but didn’t match up with anything the others were doing.

Uther took notice of the two, and approached. “Quinn, is something the matter?”

“Could you have everyone quiet down for a moment? Noel and I heard something.”

Uther furrowed his brow, listening for a moment, before turning to the camp. “Everyone, hold!” he ordered. “We may not be alone here.”

Everyone stopped. In the silence, the regular _tap_ of wood against stone could be heard clearly. What’s more, each _tap_ was louder than the last, as if whatever was making the sound was moving toward them. Any thoughts that the sound was something natural was quashed when the vanguard heard a faint voice accompany it:

“That’s weird. I was sure I heard something just now.”

The voice seemed to belong to a boy. And from the sound, and how Noel’s gaze tracked the _tap_ s, it seemed the boy was just outside the square, on the other side of the building, moving toward the road. Nobody in the vanguard spoke, but all rested their hands warily on their weapons. After a few seconds, something emerged from behind the building and stepped into the road. It was…

…a boy, with messy dark-brown hair, wearing simple clothes in earthy shades, a wooden crutch tucked under his right arm. He put his crutch forward, making a loud _tap_ against the stone ground, before swinging himself forward. “It sounded like it was coming from around here,” the boy said to himself. He stopped. “Well, I’d better get back to finding those hollyhocks. Miss Raquel’ll have my hee _aaaaaaaAAAAAAAHHHHH!_ ” The boy turned his gaze to the square. When he laid eyes on the vanguard, he screamed, and stumbled back. His crutch slipped out from under his arm, and he fell back, eyes fixed on the group.

One of the vanguard stepped forward. To Quinn’s surprise, it wasn’t Ingrid as he’d expected, but Francis. “Don’t be frightened,” he said, in a calming tone.

The boy crawled back, blindly reaching for his crutch as he refused to take his eyes off the vanguard. “ _Who are you people!_ ”

“We’re travelers, making our way to Hessen,” Francis replied. “We… thought this place was abandoned.”

The boy took several deep breaths as he looked at Francis and the others. “…you don’t _look_ you’re with any of the local tribes,” he finally said. He looked around, grabbing his crutch, and slowly trying to rise to his feet.

Francis took a step toward the boy. “Do you need any help?”

“No, no, I… I can get it.” With a grunt, the boy pushed himself back onto his feet, placing his crutch under his arm. It seemed strange to Quinn that the boy would struggle so much… until he saw the boy’s right leg. It was… shriveled, almost skeletal, with dark, discolored skin pulled tightly over the bones. It seemed much shorter than the boy’s left leg as well, as it swayed limply as the boy moved.

Ingrid finally stepped forward. “A boy your age shouldn’t be living in a place like this by himself.”

“I’m not by myself,” the boy replied. “I live with the person who took me in.” After a pause, he added, “…She’s a witch.”

“I… see.” Ingrid turned, and walked to Uther and Quinn with an odd expression. “What do you make of this, Captain?”

“Hard to say,” Uther replied. “Though, witch or not, we should meet with this person. If there _is_ someone here, that would make us trespassers. And the last thing we’d want is to draw any unnecessary attention.”

Ingrid crossed her arms over her chest. “If anyone is trespassing, it’s this ‘witch.’”

“We can talk to them at least, can’t we?” Quinn asked. “It can’t hurt. And… we’re not really up for a fight right now.”

Ingrid looked at Quinn silently, before sighing. “I suppose you raise a fair point.”

The three turned back toward the boy. “We’d like to meet with this… witch, if that’s alright,” Uther said.

“Sure. We live in the keep over there.” The boy pointed to the keep at the far end of the fort, rising from the foot of the mountain. “I’ll take you to her.”

“Aright.” Uther turned. “Everyone, form up!” The others gathered. “It seems someone’s already settled here. The inquisitor, Quinn, and myself will be going to meet them.”

“What about the rest of us, Boss?” Gwin asked.

“Stay here, finish setting up camp, and rest. We shouldn’t be gone for long.”

The boy turned, and limped toward the keep, with Quinn, Ingrid, and Uther following. As they walked, Quinn heard Gail say, “Werewolves, witches… what’ll we run into next? _Dragons?_ ”

“Funny you should say that,” Julius replied. “As I recall, your Order’s leader, Mother Agnes…” But the priest’s words faded as Quinn walked with Ingrid and Uther to the keep.

The keep itself was not as badly damaged as other buildings Quinn and the rest of the vanguard had seen, but it nonetheless bore scars of battle- as the four entered, they stepped over the gates, two massive slabs of wood and iron, battered right off their hinges and left to rot where they fell in the antechamber. The boy led Quinn and the others to a flight of stairs at the heart of the keep, and slowly began to climb. Their progress had already been slow, as they waited for the boy to hobble along, but here, they came to a near-standstill as they watched the boy slowly, carefully climb, one step at a time.

“Uh, do you…” Quinn began.

“It’s fine, really,” the boy quickly replied. “I climb these stairs twice a day. I can manage.”

In time, they made it to the second landing. Here, the boy stopped in front of a door and looked back at the three. “This is my master’s laboratory,” he said. “Let _me_ talk to her. Miss Raquel doesn’t really… _like_ visitors, but I might be able to convince her.” With that, he pushed the door open.

The room beyond was a large hall with a high ceiling. Quinn was reminded of the libraries at the Abbey and the College- in fact, judging from the shelves lining the walls, the room had likely _been_ a library at some point. But all the books were gone now, leaving the shelves bare, and many had fallen, or collapsed on themselves from rot.

But what waited near the far end of the room was what caught Quinn’s attention. A number of old wooden tables were gathered in a circle, with parchments, glass vessels of all shapes and sizes, and various leaves and flowers laid across them. And at the center of all of them was a woman, leaning over one of the tables. Her back was turned, so the only feature Quinn could distinguish was her hair- a light brown, almost orange, streaming down to her waist from beneath her pointed, wide-brimmed hat.

The boy quickly began crossing the room. “Miss Raquel!”

The woman began to turn. “You’re back awfully early, Gideon. Did you actually get what I needed this time? I told you, I need hollyhocks or else-”

The woman trailed off when she laid eyes on the group. Quinn and the others were left similarly speechless upon laying eyes on the woman. Her attire left… little to the imagination- a black sleeveless top with a white fringe that barely seemed to contain her… chest, and a sweeping cloth of deep purple tied around her waist that still seemed to leave much of the woman’s legs exposed. After just a glance, Quinn looked away, his face heating up- he couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time he’d met Evangelyne. The woman stared in shock, before pointing at the group, a small fireball igniting at her fingertips. “ _You have three seconds to get the hell away from my assistant._ ”

Ingrid reached for her sword. “Go ahead,” the woman said. “Try it. I’ll smoke you and that whole half of the room before you could even finish blinking.” Ingrid froze.

“W-Wait, Miss Raquel!” The boy hobbled forward. “These guys aren’t from the tribes! Look!”

The woman looked them over, but didn’t lower her hand, nor extinguish the flame burning at her fingertips.

Uther began to approach the woman, his arms raised slightly. “What the boy said is true,” he began. “We aren’t from this area. I’m Uther, Captain of-”

“I don’t care,” the woman snapped. “Leave. _Now_.”

“We were simply looking for a place to rest for the night on our way to Hessen. After that, we’ll be on our way.”

Still, the woman wouldn’t stand down. “This place is already taken. Sorry, but you’re gonna have to find somewhere else.”

Uther crept forward. “Come now, let’s be civil. I’m sure we can come to-”

The fireball at the woman’s fingertips shot forward. It went far to the group’s left, striking the wall. The bookcase there exploded, showering the group with hot splinters. The woman then pointed at Uther, another fireball floating in front of her fingertips. “The next one won’t miss.”

Ingrid quickly spoke: “I see that we’re not welcome. We’ll be on our way.”

The fireball extinguished itself, but the witch continued to point at the three. “Good.” She glanced to the boy. “Gideon, see to it that these people leave. And that they _don’t_ come back.”

“Yes… Miss Raquel,” the boy- Gideon replied hesitantly. He limped across the room and through the door; Quinn, Ingrid, and Uther followed.

“Oh, and make sure you bring me those hollyhocks when you’re done,” the woman said. She flicked her wrist, and the door slammed behind them.

Gideon sighed, adjusting himself on his crutch. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “Miss Raquel is… well, she’s always like that, to be honest. But I didn’t think she’d get so upset.”

The boy began to descend the stairs- the climb down proved just as slow as their ascent. “Hey,” Gideon said. “I know Miss Raquel told you to leave, but… I’ll let you stay. At least, for the night. There’s a few spots that are out of view of the keep. Just, uh… don’t climb any stairs you find out in town, okay? They’re pretty unstable.”

“That woman… Raquel,” Ingrid began. Her expression was… strange, but Quinn couldn’t place why. “What’s your relationship to her?”

“I’m her assistant,” Gideon replied.

Silence fell on the group for a few moments, before Ingrid asked coldly, “Gideon… is that woman keeping you here against your will?” Now, Quinn recognized the inquisitor’s tone, her expression- it was the same way she’d looked at Foreman, spoken to Foreman, when she’d taken Quinn from Lamorak.

“What, no!” Gideon protested. “She took me in after my tribe cast me out. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for her.” Ingrid said nothing else to Gideon, though Quinn couldn’t help but notice that the grim expression remained on her face, until they reached the camp.

Uther explained what happened to the others. Almost instantly, protests went up when he told them they would have to move the camp. “Oh come on, we just finished setting up!” Quinn distinctly heard Gail shout.

“I know this situation isn’t ideal,” Uther began, his voice stern, “but at least we can enjoy the safety of sturdy walls, at least for tonight. You have your orders everyone. Let’s get to it.”

As the vanguard broke down their camp, Gideon watched, shifting uncomfortably. Eventually, he said, “Well, I have things I need to get back to. Bye.”

As the group watched him depart, Gail said, “Seems like a nice kid. Sounds like his lady friend is a different story, though. Reminds me of a certain someone I know.”

“And just what are you trying to imply by that?” Ingrid asked icily, her gaze turning to Gail.

Gail squeaked. “ _Eep!_ Uh, n-nothing!”

* * *

 Night fell. The vanguard had relocated their camp to a side street just north of the square. Though they were hidden from the keep under daylight, once night had come, they had to keep their single fire low, to avoid detection. In the low light, the buildings around them cast eerie silhouettes, looking more like the mangled shadows of malformed beasts, than the homes of people long passed. Although the day was clear, the night sky above was solid black, and no stars could be seen.

Quinn sat in front of the fire with the others, warm stew settling in his stomach, the vanguard’s days of constant travel catching up with him. But before he slipped into unconsciousness, Gail asked, “It sure is spooky out here, isn’t it?” He looked over to his left, where Gail was sitting rather close, looking up at the surrounding buildings.

Yawning, Quinn replied, “I’m sure if Malcolm we’re here, he’d have some scary stories to tell us.” His thoughts drifted to Professor Isaac’s second student. Even outside the Professor’s lessons, Malcolm always seemed to be writing something in a small, leather-bound journal he always kept on hand. He claimed it was so he’d be ready if inspiration ever struck him- he adored stories, and hoped to one day write tales of his own.

“Now that you mention it, do you think we’ll get to see Malcolm again soon?” Gail asked. She looked to Quinn, eyes shimmering in the flickering firelight.

“Most likely.” But it was not Quinn who said this, but Ingrid, standing on the opposite side of the fire. “Once we bring Noel to the Cathedral, we’ll need to meet with Master Isaac to get an assessment of our situation. So, it’s safe to say his student will likely be close by.”

Any further discussion was interrupted by the sound of bare feet hitting the stony street, coming from the fortress gate. Noel’s voice could be heard, shouting something, but she was too far away for her words to be distinguishable. Ingrid looked in the direction of the sound was coming from, and sighed. “Noel…” she mumbled.

After a few moments, Noel appeared at the end of the street. “ _Scary lady!_ ” she shouted. Ingrid turned to face the girl, but before she could say anything, Noel ran to her and threw herself at the inquisitor, almost knocking her off her feet. “Bad men! Bad men!”

Ingrid blinked in confusion. “What? ‘Bad men?’”

Francis followed in the young girl’s footsteps. “We have a problem,” he said, a strange tone in his voice. “Come to the gates. Bring your weapons.”

 _Bring your weapons_. Those words instantly snapped Quinn out of his tired state. The others quickly got to their feet and left the alley- Quinn followed them through the fort, up a set of stairs to the top of the outer walls, and looked out onto the endless field beyond.

A line of lights stood in the fields, some five hundred _peds_ from the gate. Quinn realized they were torches, held aloft by men mounted on horses- roughly ten in all. They wore simple, loose clothes of earthen shades- similar to Gideon’s clothing, Quinn noticed. Their faces, arms, and chests, where they were exposed, were covered with black tattoos, depicting spirals and broken lines. Their weapons were varied- swords, axes, and bows- but each one of the men was armed. One unsheathed his sword, and let out a sharp cry in a language Quinn didn’t understand- the others too raised their weapons, and answered the cry with one of their own.

“Who are they?” Quinn asked.

“A Sythic raiding party, I reckon,” Julius replied.

“ _You idiots!_ ” an angry woman’s voice shouted.

The vanguard looked back- rapidly walking toward them was a woman, the same woman Quinn had met earlier. Raquel. Gideon was hobbling behind her on his crutch, calling “Miss Raquel, wait!” But Raquel didn’t wait. She strode up to Uther, and jabbed an accusing finger directly into his breastplate.

“Do you have any idea how hard I had to work to get those savages to leave us alone!?” she roared. “To convince them this place was cursed? _Do you?_ And you throw away all my hard work, just like that!”

With every sentence, she jabbed her finger against Uther’s chest, until Uther reached up and grabbed her wrist. “If you’ve come to help us, then we would appreciate your assistance. But if you’ve come just to insult us, then I must ask that you stand aside.” His words were polite enough, but the captain’s tone made it abundantly clear that whatever patience he’d had before had evaporated in the face of the enemy.

“Help you?” Raquel asked in a small, incredulous voice. “You _think_ I came here to _help_ you?” The witch yanked her wrist out of Uther’s grasp. “Oh no. _This…_ is _your_ mess. So _you_ deal with it. And if I’m honest… I hope those savages gut you all like fish.” She turned on her heel. “Let’s go, Gideon. We’re going back to the keep.”

She walked past Gideon, who didn’t move. Raquel stopped and looked back. “Gideon, we’re going!”

Gideon looked to the witch, but still didn’t move. “I’m… sorry, Miss Raquel,” he said. “But I’m staying here.”

Raquel returned to Gideon’s side, laying a hand on his shoulder and gripping tightly. “ _Gideon_.” she said firmly. “We’re going.”

But, to Raquel’s surprise, the boy pulled himself free from her grip. “ _No_ , Miss Raquel. I’m gonna help them.” Gideon’s voice, which before had been timid and quiet, was suddenly firm.

“You’re going to help us?” Uther asked. His eyes fell on Gideon’s crutch. “How?”

“Like this.” The boy reached under his collar, and pulled out a small tube hanging from a cord around his neck. He blew into it, creating a shrill sound that echoed through the night.

A dark hole opened in the ground at Gideon’s feet. And from its depths, something began to emerge. It pulled away from the darkness surrounding it, which clung to its body like tar, before climbing out of the hole and shaking itself off with a deep grunt. A skeletal creature stood before Quinn and the others. It had no muscles, no sinews, no flesh of any kind to speak of- only bones, bathed in an otherworldly red light, deep red lights glowing in its empty sockets. The others recoiled slightly, but without a moment’s hesitation, Gideon climbed up on the creature’s back. “I can’t fight, but I can ride,” he said. “And, Miss Raquel taught me healing magic. If you have a staff I can borrow, then I can mend any wounds you suffer.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Uther looked to Julius. “Julius, do we have any staves to spare?”

“He can borrow mine. I should have a spare back at the camp, a moment please!” The priest said hurriedly, handing off the staff to the boy and racing down the stairs.

For several moments, Raquel stared at Gideon in a stunned silence. Then, her face contorting in anger, she strode to the battlements lining the fortress wall, and glanced back at Uther. “If Gideon comes out of this with so much as a scratch on him, there won’t be enough of you left to bury.” A fireball ignited at her fingertips. But this one was larger than the one she made in the keep- this one was the size of her fist. She pulled back her arm, and threw the fireball with all her might at the horsemen.

There was an explosion. Shouts, and whinnies rang out, and the dry grass erupted into flames. Raquel laughed, watching as the horsemen ran through the burning field. “Hahahaha! That’s right! You’d better run, you damn animals!” But the horsemen weren’t fleeing. They circled back, forming two lines separated by the blaze, with one fewer horse in their number. One of their number let out a harsh cry, which the others answered. Then, the two lines charged.

“Gail, witch, stay up here and cover us! Everyone else, to the gate! We’ll form a defensive line there!” Uther shouted.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Raquel yelled harshly, but she remained where she was, forming another fireball and throwing it at the horsemen.

The rest of the vanguard raced down the stairs. Uther, Fiona, and Gwin let out loud whistles- in respone, their three horses came galloping to the gates, and the soldiers wasted no time mounting. “Juno,” Uther continued, “you’ll be at the front. Gwin, Fiona, take her flanks. Francis, Quinn, Inquisitor, form a line behind them. I’ll bring up the rear.”

“Got it!” Juno called, taking her position, and drawing a line in the soil with the blunt end of her spear. “Come on! Step past this line, I dare you!” she shouted, pounding her spear against her massive shield.

Quinn took his position, behind Gwin- on his right was Francis, then Ingrid. The fire spreading across the field kept the horsemen well-lit; they circled and paced, darting to avoid fireballs and gusts of wind that cut the grass like an invisible sword, the expanding walls of flames preventing them from advancing any further. But one spurred his horse onward- it leapt through the fire, and galloped toward the gate and the vanguard. The man screeched, waving his sword wildly over his head. “Everyone, hold firm!” Uther ordered.

But, as the horseman closed in, Juno rushed forward. “ _Haaah!_ ” She thrust her spear, stabbing the horseman’s mount in the chest. With a pained cry, the horse collapsed- the rider leapt out of his saddle, but before he could rise, Juno rushed toward him, and slammed the edge of her shield into the side of his face. He fell back and went limp. Juno laughed, bashing her spear and shield together again. “ _Hahaha!_ I hope that’s not your best!” she shouted. Then, she suddenly raised her shield, blocking an arrow that another horseman had fired.

“Juno, get back in formation!” Uther ordered.

Francis rushed out, taking shelter behind Juno’s shield. “I’ll cover you! Come on!” he shouted. The two backed toward the gate, Francis firing at the horsemen- the enemies paced back and forth at the edge of the flames, firing back with their own bows, but the fires had spread too far, and burned too hot for them to come any closer.

At that moment, Quinn noticed something- on the horizon, far from the light of the flames, was a brilliant blue light. In seconds, the light grew brighter, and larger, revealing that it was… a blue flame, following in the wake of a black horse. A figure sat atop the horse, but even at its distance, Quinn could see that the figure was different from the other horsemen- the figure was dressed in armor of all black, and it seemed to have… no head.

Gwin leaned forward in his saddle; it seemed he too noticed the black-clad rider. “What the hell is that?”

A horseman far back from the others reined his horse to a stop, also spotting the strange rider in black. He shouted to the rider in his language, and the rider slowed to a stop. But the horseman must have realized something was wrong, because he turned his horse and tried to ride away. But with inhuman speed, the black rider drew his sword and slashed the man and his horse. The man, and the horse beneath him, fell, cleaved in two.

Cries of terror erupted among the horsemen, and they scattered in all directions, fleeing into the darkness, leaving only the rider in black. The rider pulled back on his reins, and his horse reared back, letting out a terrifying roar that no normal horse could have made. Blue fire erupted around the hooves of the horse, and engulfed the blade of his sword.

Quinn could only stare at the rider in shock. He… he’d seen him before. He knew he had. But, where…  He jumped when something wrapped around his waist. He looked- it was Noel. She was shivering, eyes fixed on the black rider. “Good… guy…” she whispered.

Quinn looked down at Noel, gently trying to push her away. “It’ll be okay,” he said, his voice shaking. “We can take him down if we work together.” His words were to reassure himself just as much as Noel, but they did little to slow his quickening pulse, to steady his now trembling hands.

As soon as the horse’s hooves touched the ground, it began galloping toward the vanguard. The rider rode straight through the fires as though they weren’t even there, without any sign of burns. From atop the gate, a fireball arced through the air, landing next to the rider with an ear-splitting explosion, but the rider emerged from the blaze unmarred. Francis, still hiding behind Juno and her shield, fired at the rider- but his arrows shattered against the rider’s armor, not even leaving a mark where they struck. In moments, the rider had reached the hooded man, and raised his sword. Juno rushed in front of Francis, raising her shield- the rider’s blow struck the shield, knocking Juno off her feet, and into Francis, sending both sprawling. The rider raised his sword once again.

“ _Master!_ ” Noel pushed Quinn aside and ran toward the beast. As she did, she began to transform, but not into a wolf. The headless rider turned to “face” Noel, just in time for a hulking black… _thing_ to seize his horse around the neck with its muscular arms. The horse tried to pull free, and the rider raised his sword to strike. But before he could, the thing twisted, and threw the horse back into the burning field, rider and all.

For a moment, the thing stood still: a grotesque, muscular beast covered in black fur, standing somewhere between man and wolf. But it only stood for a moment; with a snarling roar, it leapt into the field after the rider.

Gideon rode up to Francis and Juno, who were still struggling to climb back onto their feet. He pointed his staff first at the mercenary, then the hooded man; for a moment, they were bathed in a white light, before standing, their wounds vanishing. “Are you alright?” the boy asked.

“I’m fine,” Juno replied. “But, what was that?”

Quinn stepped forward. “It was Noel.” He looked to the rest of the vanguard. “Come on, we have to help her.”

“How?” the mercenary asked. “That knight is damn strong. And nothing we’ve done has even scratched it yet.”

Quinn was quiet for a moment, grip tightening on his axe. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “But we can’t leave Noel to fight by herself.”

Gwin glanced back to Uther. “What are your orders, Boss?”

“You heard Quinn,” Uther replied, pointing his lance out into the field. “Move to support Noel.”

Quinn and the rest of the vanguard hurried into the field- with the fires still burning strongly, it didn’t take long to find the two black figures. Noel seemed to be holding her own quite well, relentlessly swiping her claws at the rider, leaving him no choice but to retreat. “Surround them!” Uther shouted. “Don’t give him a chance to escape!” The vanguard spread out, trying to box in the rider. But right away, Quinn noticed something was wrong. Noel’s attacks were quickly beginning to slow, and the rider had more and more time to evade her.

Then… there was a flash. The world was quiet, devoid of color and movement, save for the black rider and the black beast. Noel swiped her claws at the rider- his horse darted back, before rushing forward as he raised his sword and swung down. The blade cleaved through Noel’s arm, and she staggered back, letting out an agonized cry. But before she could do anything, the rider drew back his sword, and let out a strong horizontal swing, that cut deep into Noel’s chest.

When the world moved forward once again, Quinn rushed toward the rider. The rider’s back was to him- he couldn’t parry the coming blow. So, he’d have to draw the rider’s attention. He drew back his arm, aiming his axe at the rider’s horse.

“ _Heeyaaah- Gah!_ ”

Quinn’s cry was cut off when, rather than sinking into the horse’s flesh, his axe… bounced off its skin, as though it were made of stone. The rider “looked” back at him, raising his sword. There was a flash- he saw the rider give a strong backhand swing. With his foresight, Quinn ducked under the attack and rushed forward, aiming his axe at the rider himself. Again, he swung, aiming at the rider’s back- but once again, the axe bounced off the rider’s armor, not even leaving a mark. Another flash- this time, the rider turned to face him, and let out a vertical swing from below. Quinn darted to the side, but retreated, rather than attack again.

It was no good. Even if he could see what the horseman was going to do, it didn’t help if he couldn’t hurt it. He glanced down at his ring. Would… _that_ be able to hurt it? It might work, but… what about after? Would he be able to regain control of himself?

But then, he saw something strange. Noel’s ears perked up, and she looked up to the sky, before turning and running away on all fours. Quinn heard Uther shout behind him “What- f-fall back! Everyone _fall back, now!_ ” He glanced up, to see what had caught the beast’s attention.

A… red… line was streaking across the sky. It turned at hard angles as it moved, growing brighter and… _hotter_ as it grew closer. “What…” he began.

“Hey get out of there!” Galloping hooves came to Quinn’s ears, and before he knew what was happening, something grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the rider. He found himself being roughly pulled into a saddle, behind…

“F-Fiona?!” he stammered.

“Hang on!” she ordered. “And whatever you do, don’t look back!”

Quinn looked back, just in time to see the red beam turn to the ground and strike the rider. There was a bright flash, and the air and ground rumbled violently. He was thrown off the horse; pain flared through his body as he hit the ground, back-first. “ _Gehah!_ ” Slowly, his joints burning, Quinn climbed to his feet. His vision was… dark. He blinked, and slowly, the world came back into view.

The first thing he saw was a red figure, kneeling. “Dagda!” Fiona’s voice said. “It’s okay, Dagda. C’mon, up you go.” The figure was indeed Fiona, kneeling next to her steed. Slowly, with labored breaths and shaking legs, the horse tried to rise from the ground.

A hard metallic footfall rang out. Quinn looked to its source: the headless black rider, emerging from a crater blasted into the ground. Its horse was gone, its left arm and shoulder was missing, black smoke pouring from its wound; but somehow it stood, still advancing, flaming sword in hand.

“How… how is it still alive?” Quinn stammered, slowly backing away. Fiona’s horse was still down, and the beast Noel had transformed into was nowhere to be seen. He had no idea where everyone else was. He had to do something. Quinn’s eyes fell on his ring once again. He struggled to remember Professor Isaac’s lessons to waken the Rings of Power. He closed his eyes, concentrating all of his self into the ring on his finger.

 _Norn… hear me,_ he thought. _Lend me your strength_. Quinn felt the ring on his finger burn, the blue light shining from its gem. Black scales erupted from beneath it, covering his hand, spreading up his arm. He concentrated, tried to keep the dark that clawed at his mind at bay. He only needed a small portion, just enough to defeat his enemy, and the scales stopped when they reached his shoulder. Quinn opened his eyes, axe raised. The ring shone brightly, seeming to dim the surrounding flames. “Let’s finish this,” the told the headless rider.

With incredible speed, the rider charged, swinging his sword from the side. But even without Norn’s foresight, Quinn parried the blow, sending the rider’s sword flying from its hand. Quinn then swung with all his might, aiming at the rider’s chest. The blow sent the black figure reeling, but proved too much for his axe- the handle snapped in two, and the blade spiralled through the air, before landing with a faint _clang_ in the dirt. It seemed normal weapons couldn’t hurt it. So, as the rider reeled, Quinn drew back his fist, and with a powerful cry, punched the rider with his scaled hand with all his might.

His fist punched through the rider’s breastplate, through his chest, and out through his back. The rider did not cry out, or make any sound. Quinn pulled his arm back, and the rider collapsed onto his knees. He placed his hand on the ground, and strained, as though to rise, but before he could, the rider… dissolved into the same smoke that poured from his wound. The hot air from the flames carried the smoke up into the dark sky, where it vanished.

Quinn stood, taking several deep breaths. The fires were finally beginning to die down, leaving the fields dark. He looked down at his arm, and let out a long breath- the blue light shining from his ring went out, and the scales retracted. He was… himself once more. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief… until the ground shook from a heavy footfall. He turned, reflexively reaching for his belt, but then remembered his axe was broken. It was the beast- Noel. She approached quietly, without any growls or other aggressive signs, before shifting back to the black-haired girl he recognized. “Waoh… Noel didn’t know good guy could do _that!_ ” she said excitedly.

“Noel… you’re okay,” Quinn said. “You surprised me, too.” He looked back to the crater. That beam of light must have made it. “But,” he began, “where did that light come from?”

“Light came from the sky,” Noel replied. She pointed to the sky above the fort. “Over there.” She looked, but leaned forward, narrowing her eyes as if noticing something. “Wait… something still there!”

Up above the fort, Quinn could see something in the sky. It was… a horse. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but sure enough, hanging in the sky above the fort was a horse with a pure white coat, keeping itself aloft with two enormous feathery white wings. Someone was mounted on its back, but from the distance and the darkness, he couldn’t see any details. The horse dipped, and dove toward the ground, and with a great flap of its wings, it slowed itself and landed gracefully in the grass nearby- Quinn had to shield his eyes from the debris it sent up. The person mounted on its back climbed off, and approached.

In the fading light, Quinn could see that the person had red hair, cut short, and wore a red coat with white pants. They were lightly armored, with only a breastplate and a pair of tassets hanging from their belt. He raised his fist once he noticed the spear in the stranger’s hands. He may not have been armed, but the Ring could make short work of a normal person- he knew that for a fact. But, to his surprise, the stranger stabbed their spear into the ground, before bending down on one knee, and asked:

“Are yew… Quinn?”

Quinn relaxed, but only slightly. He wasn’t sure what to make of this stranger, but it seemed at the very least, they weren’t here to fight. “Uh… I am,” he replied.

“Is His Majesty, Lord Uther with yew?” Right away, Quinn noticed there was something… _strange_ about the way the person spoke. Their enunciations and tone were… unusual, and if he didn’t listen closely, their words quickly became unintelligible. The stranger’s voice was oddly… _husky_ as well- between it and their slight features, he couldn’t quite tell if he was talking to a man or a woman.

“I am,” Uther said. Quinn looked; the captain rode up slowly, before dismounting, the rest of the vanguard gathering. “But, who might you be?”

The stranger bowed their head, laying a hand on their chest. “Aye am Elizabeth Lecarde, heir to House Lecarde, Lords Protectors of the Isle of Morley. Aye pray yew will forgive me for mae lateness, Yer Majesty.”

Uther stroked his beard for a moment, in thought, before replying, “Ah, yes, Lady Lecarde. I remember meeting with your father as we raised the army. Tell me, what brings you here?”

“Aye was chosen by Parliament to deliver yew _this_.” Elizabeth removed a ring from her finger and held it out. Though it was too dark to see finer details, Quinn could see the gemstone set into the ring- it was a brilliant red, with a dark slit that made it resemble a cat’s eye.

“Balor…” Uther muttered.

“Aye pray yew will also forgive mae indiscretion,” Elizabeth continued. “Aye know this Ring is not mine to use, but…”

But Uther held up his hand. “It’s alright. By using it, you may have very well saved us today. In fact… I want _you_ to hold onto Balor for me.”

Elizabeth looked up, the surprise clear on her face. “ _Majesty?_ ”

Uther crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a pegasus knight, yes? From your vantage point above the battlefield, Balor would be more useful in your hands than in mine.” He then said proudly, “And in any case, I’ve made it this far into my career without it- I’ve no intention of using it as a crutch now!” Uther laughed heartily.

Elizabeth lowered her hand, looking at the ring. After several moments, she owed her head, and slipped the ring on her finger. “As yew wish, Yer Majesty.” She stood. “There is another reason Aye have come. Aye have been tasked to escort yew to a meeting with the commander of the Hessian forces at Fort Branden.”

Quinn perked up. “The commander? That has to be the Professor!”

“How fares the Hessian front?” Uther asked.

For a few moments, Elizabeth was quiet. “The situation is… grim, as Aye understand it. But, Commander Isaac understands the situation better.”

“I see.” Uther turned, and mounted his horse. “We’ll take you to our camp. I imagine after your journey, you could do with some rest.”

* * *

 Far away from Fort Felhold, in a city still held in the grip of winter, a castle stood. It was built of dark stone, its interior rooms and halls bare of any tapestries, paintings, or other opulent decorations that would be expected of an emperor’s residence. The people of this harsh and unforgiving land looked down at such displays as a waste of resources better put to use elsewhere- even their rulers were not exempted from this.

In a hall that was just as spartan as the rest of the castle, a man sat on a simple wooden throne. His dark hair was cropped short, and he wore the black uniform of his nation’s military. But he did not wear the uniform simply to impress others- he wore the uniform because he was a soldier, trained to fight. After all, a leader unwilling to fight to defend his nation had no right to call himself such.

In the man’s hand were a number of documents, sent from his spies abroad. Graf Alibert’s attempt to assassinate Mother Agnes had failed, but that was unsurprising- a woman like her would not be felled so easily by a mere assassin. Still, there had been an unexpected benefit. Oswald, the king of Bannon had been slain, and an incident at Tol Castell- coupled with reports of Burgundian soldiers moving along the Hessian border- led the Bannish Parliament to conclude Burgundy had been the culprits, and were mobilizing for war. And war between Bannon, Burgundy, and Hessen would leave all three weakened, and place him at an advantage. “I’ll have to reward the good Graf,” the man muttered as he read the reports.

At that moment, the doors at the far end of the throne room were thrown open, and a boy entered. He too wore the black uniform of the army- though he was not a soldier, his role was just as important. The boy crossed the room, standing before the man with his arms clasped in front of him- he did not kneel as other visitors did, but as the Imperial Hand, he did not need to. “Apologies for the intrusion, my lord. But there is something I wish to report.”

“You may speak,” the man replied, setting the documents aside.

The boy seemed hesitant. “It’s Dullahan, my lord. She has… been destroyed.”

“It is no small feat to strike down an Einherjar,” the man said, clasping his hands. “Did you see Dullahan’s enemies?”

The boy replied, “Yes, my lord,” and described what he had seen through the eyes of his agent: The woman who fired beams of light from her eyes, the woman in white with blue hair.

“Balor,” the man said. “And the Order’s Inquisitor. They’re a long way from Hessen.”

“What is your will, my lord?” the boy asked. “Shall I send another Einherjar after them?” He held up his hand for emphasis, revealing a golden ring with a brilliant opal set into it.

But the man held up his hand, a sign for the boy to restrain himself. “There is no need, my boy. Dullahan will regenerate in time. And in any case, Balor and the inquisitor are but pawns in this game. And the movements of pawns can be predicted.”

The boy lowered his hand. “As you will, my lord.” He paused for a moment. “There was… another. Someone I couldn’t identify from the spies’ reports.” He described this person as well, and his transformation: Black scales, a single horn that pointed forward from his temple, and three eyes that shone with a brilliant blue light.

The man’s eyes widened slightly, and he leaned forward on his throne. “Are you certain?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

The man slowly leaned back. “I… see.” He looked away. “Leave me.”

“Yes, my lord.” The boy bowed, and departed.

The man sat on his throne, ruminating in silence. Black scales, blue eyes… the description matched what his father, and grandfather had told him of… her. The one who had revealed the truth of this land they called Aurea. But, she had never made a Ring of her own. Or at least, if she had, she had withheld such knowledge. But why resurface now, of all times? And who was this boy? Would she remain in the shadows, using him as her proxy? Or would she at long last emerge and take her place on the board?

In truth, it mattered not to him what she did- he would act all the same, with, without, and even _against_ her, if need be. But still, the man could not help but to be troubled by this news.

“Tiamat…” he muttered. “What are you after?”

* * *

 Although dawn had come, the fort and the surrounding fields were still in darkness, blanketed by the shadows cast by the mountains. Even so, the members of the vanguard were awake, packing away their camp as they prepared to move on.

Elizabeth looked around the camp, a mixture of shock and disdain on her face. She turned to face Uther. “Yer Majesty, these accommodations are unfitting for one of yer status.”

“If I’m to be perfectly honest, I actually find them rather comfortable,” Uther replied. “But that aside, although I may be the most apparent heir, I’m not yet a king. And I will not place myself above any of the soldiers I fight alongside.”

But as they worked, the vanguard was beholden to a strange sight- a covered wagon rolled down the road leading from the keep, laden with all sorts of materials, pulled by the strange skeletal creature Gideon had summoned the night before. Raquel and Gideon himself sat at the front. When the wagon passed alongside the camp, Raquel held up her fist, and the wagon came to a sudden halt. “So,” she began. “You’re finally leaving.”

“We are,” Uther replied.

Raquel looked away. “Hmph. Good riddance. You haven’t even been here a full day, and look at all the trouble you brought with you.”

Elizabeth strode up to the wagon with a dangerous expression. “ _Yew_ will address His Majesty with respect,” she growled. “It is because of this man that _yew_ still breathe- a man whose footsteps _yew_ are not worthy to tread upon.”

“Stand down, Elizabeth,” Uther ordered. “I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me.” The captain looked at the wagon the witch and her apprentice were riding. “Although, it seems you won’t be staying, either.”

“No thanks to you,” Raquel snapped.

“Those riders that escaped…” Gideon began. “They’ll come back, with the rest of their tribe. We can’t fight all of them by ourselves, so we have to leave before they come.”

Uther stepped forward. “Why not travel with us, then? We can escort you to the nearest town, at the very least.”

Elizabeth looked back. “Majesty, are yew sure that’s wise?”

Raquel looked away. “No thanks. You’ve already done enough.”

But, Gideon laid a hand on the witch’s shoulder. “Come on, Miss Raquel,” he said.

Raquel looked to the boy, before slumping in her seat. “ _Fine_ ,” she said, exasperated. “But don’t keep us waiting.”

Further into the camp, away from Uther in the others, Quinn sat in a side alley, alone. The events of the previous knight played through his head. There was no mistaking it. The surroundings may have been different, but that headless rider he’d fought… it was the same as the one he saw in his vision. He hadn’t told anyone of what he’d seen the day of his initiation, for good reason- he didn’t recognize the figures he saw. It was possible that if he were more worldly, if he’d had more knowledge of state affairs, he might-

“Quinn.”

Quinn jolted. He looked, to see Ingrid standing at the end of the alley, looking at him sternly. “You’re supposed to be helping the others break camp.”

Quinn stood. He wasn’t sure what to make of that vision, but he could say at least one thing- it was real. It showed places and people that he would encounter. He had to tell her. He didn’t know what his vision was leading to, but if it was an ill omen, maybe… he could avert it. Maybe, he could change the future. Quinn finally approached Ingrid, and said:

“That rider we fought last night… I’ve seen him before.”

Ingrid blinked, clearly surprised by his words. “You have?” she asked. “Where?”

“At my initiation, when… when King Oswald was killed, I… I had a vision.”

* * *

 The situation was perfect. Her back was turned, hunched over a fallen tree, and his steps had been quiet. There was no way she could have heard his approach. His heart raced with anticipation. Today would finally be the day. After taking a long, quiet breath, he charged. “ _Heyaaah!_ ”

Fiona stepped to the side, grabbing Gwin’s arm. With ease, she rolled him over her back and threw him to the ground, on his stomach.

“ _Gah!_ ” He cried out, and rolled onto his side, curling up slowly. “Aaagh… oh, that smarts…”

Fiona looked down at her brother, arms crossed. “Gwin, you should know by now that you can’t sneak up on me,” she said.

Gwin struggled to his feet. “Ah… what gave me away?”

She looked up, to a tree close to where Gwin had been hiding. “The birds up there went quiet for some reason. There’s no large predators in this area, so it had to be a person. And… I know my brother better than anyone.”

“Sharp as ever, Sis.” Gwin dusted himself off. “So, what’re up to?”

“Gathering firewood. Mind lending me a hand?”

“Sure! Bet I can carry more than you!”

Fiona shot her brother a look. “You _know_ you can’t.”

A few minutes passed as the two gathered the needed wood. As they made their way back to camp, Gwin wavered under the weight of the massive bundle he’d made. Fiona looked over to him. “Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Yeah, I can manage. Just gotta- _aagh!_ ” He teetered, and fell. “Ow.”

“Gwin…” Fiona began. “Why do you insist on these challenges? We aren’t children anymore.”

“I know,” Gwin replied, as he fumbled with his bundle of firewood. “But, I think it’s good practice.”

Fiona glanced over. “Practice?”

“Well, you’re the strongest fighter I know. And if I can keep pace with _you_ , then I should be able to beat anyone.” Gwin smiled. “And, if I actually manage to beat you, then _aaaie!_ ” Gwin wavered, and fell again.

Fiona looked down at her brother, unimpressed, before picking up the bundle he dropped and setting it on her shoulder. “I don’t think that’ll be happening anytime soon.”

* * *

 Night had fallen. Fiona sat in front of the campfire, sharpening her spear. As she ran a whetstone along her weapon’s edge, Quinn approached. “Hey, Fiona? Do you have a moment?”

“Oh, hey… Quinn.” There was a distinct pause, as though Fiona struggled for a moment to remember his name. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah. I was wondering about you and Gwin. The two of you seem kind of… close.”

Fiona blinked in confusion. “Uh, I suppose. We _are_ brother and sister- we’re about as close as two people can get.”

Quinn sat down next to the knight. “Oh. Brother and sister. That makes sense.” He paused. “What’s… it like?”

“Huh? What’s what like?” Fiona asked, tilting her head.

“Having a sibling.”

Fiona slowly set down her weapon and whetstone. “Where… is this coming from?”

Quinn scratched his head, looking away sheepishly. “Sorry. I know it’s a strange question. But, I was curious.”

“I’m guessing you don’t have any siblings of your own?”

Quinn lowered his gaze. “I don’t have… any family. Both of my parents died when I was young, and as far as I know, I don’t have any siblings.” He looked over to Fiona. “So… I don’t really know what ‘normal’ families look like.”

“…Well,” Fiona began, hesitantly, “you don’t have to share blood with someone for them to be family. Like that woman you’re always with. Ingrid, right?”

“Uh… I don’t… really think of Miss Ingrid like that.” Quinn felt his face heat up as he said this, but he couldn’t say why.

Fiona thought for a moment. “Is… there anyone _else_ you’re close to?”

This time, it was Quinn’s turn to think. “I guess… there’s my mentor, Professor Isaac. And Gail and Malcolm, too. When we students at the College, we were always together.”

Fiona smiled. “See? You _do_ have a family. Maybe not in blood, but definitely in spirit.”

Quinn’s face heated up again. “I don’t know. It… kind of embarrassing to think of it like that.”

Fiona smiled still, but her smile changed from friendly to… devious. “Speaking of embarrassing, that’s a perk of family- you get to tell embarrassing stories about each other.”

“Is that right?” Quinn asked.

“Yep. Like the time Gwin got kicked by a horse.”

Quinn looked at the knight, unsure of how to reply. “Um… would Gwin be okay with you telling that story?”

She waved away his concern. “It’s fine. Anyway, years ago, when Gwin and I were squires- knights in training- we were reshoeing our master’s horses…”

* * *

 Francis readied his bow, taking aim at a nearby tree. He let his arrow fly- it struck the tree, but slightly below and to the left of the spot he’d aimed toward. “Hmm… I just replaced the string,” he mumbled. “Maybe the bow itself is wearing.”

“Hey.”

Francis looked- nearby, leaning against a tree, was Juno. “Did you need something?” he asked. “Has Uther called a meeting?”

“Oh, no. I was just watching. I’ve gotta say, it’s pretty rare for men out here to favor bows. Most prefer swords. Say it makes them feel like the heroes in their stories they heard when they were kids.” Her eyes eventually turned to Francis’s weapon. “That’s a… pretty rough looking bow you’ve got there. Make it yourself?”

Francis nodded. “I did.”

Juno leaned against the tree again, hand on her chin, before pushing herself away. “I wanna show you something. Wait here for a moment.” And she hurried away.

A minute passed, then two. Francis waited, pondering if he should look for Juno, when the mercenary returned. “Sorry about that. Have a look at this.”

She held up a bow. It was exquisitely made from some dark wood, with smooth curves, completely unlike the roughly made bow in Francis’s hands.

“It’s a fine weapon…” Francis said. “But, I thought you fought with a spear.”

“Warriors of Coea are trained using five main weapons on the battlefield. The spear and the bow are two of them.” She held it towards the hooded man. “Here. Try it out for yourself.”

He looked up at the mercenary. “Are you sure?”

“Go ahead. I don’t mind. Really.”

Francis took the bow, turning to the tree he’d been using as a target. Slowly, he notched an arrow, and drew back the string. He aimed, and let his arrow fly.

The arrow hit directly where he aimed- and much more- it punched a hole straight through the trunk of the tree. Francis could only stare in shock.

“A whole world of difference, isn’t it?” Juno asked, looking toward Francis with a sly smile. “That’s what a real weapon can do.” She stepped in front of him. “Tell you what- you can keep that bow. At least, until you can get a proper one of your own.”

Francis looked down at the bow, then to Juno, surprised. “…Are you sure?” he asked.

“You said it yourself- I prefer the spear myself. But, I still know enough that I could give you some pointers. What do you say?”

Francis looked down at the bow again. “I think… I’ll take you up on that. Everything I know I learned on my own, so it would be good to get some proper training.”

“Alright.” The mercenary stepped back. “First, let’s start with something simple. Show me how you usually shoot.”

Francis did just that- he notched an arrow, and held up his bow, drawing back the string.

The smile disappeared from Juno’s face. “Okay, two things right away. First, if you’re shooting from an upright stance, you hold the bow upright, too. Second, you don’t need to draw so far back. The bow should do most of the work for you.”

Francis turned his hand so the bow was upright, and slackened his grip on the string. “Like this?”

“Not quite. Spread your legs a little, so your feet are the same width as your shoulders…”

* * *

 “Raquel! Hey, Raquel!” Gail called, approaching the witch’s wagon. The vanguard had stopped for the night, and although she’d searched the camp, Gail could find no trace of the witch. The wagon was the only place she hadn’t checked yet.

The door at the back of the wagon opened slightly, and Raquel peered out. “You don’t have to yell.”

“Oh hey, there you are!” She hurried to the wagon. “I wanted to ask you something. Do you have a moment?”

“You wouldn’t leave if I said no, would you?” Raquel opened the door fully. “What is it?”

“Well, during the last battle, I noticed something: you don’t use any tomes to cast spells? How do you do it?” Gail began bouncing up and down on her heels. “Oh, don’t tell me! Is it a special bloodline going back thousands of years? Are the spells tattooed on your body?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Raquel replied. “I use _these_.” She reached into the wagon, and held out a flask, full of some dark brown liquid.

Gail leaned in to look closer. “What is that?” She reached toward the flask, but Raquel pulled it out of her reach.

“What do you know of magic?” the witch asked.

“Well…” Gail was silent for a moment as she thought. “What we call ‘magic…’ is special energy carried through the air on the wind. The spells in tomes, like this one-” She held up her tome. “-are sets of instructions giving this energy certain properties and telling it to act in certain ways.”

Raquel looked down at the girl in surprise. “You know more than you let on. But magic isn’t just carried by the wind. It settles in certain objects, permeating them, and imbuing them with certain properties. My people knew how to extract this energy, and distill it into potions like this one.” She held up the flask for emphasis. “From there, we could shape this energy, and unleash it however we wished.” Raquel leaned forward. “You didn’t think I made all these just for fun, did you?”

Gail held out her hand. “Can I try it? Just one?”

Raquel was silent, but eventually held out the flask. “Just-”

But before she could say anything else, Gail snatched the flask and began to drink from it. But as soon as the liquid touched her lips, she doubled over, retching and spitting loudly “ _Uuuagh! Ppth! Ptpth!_ Oh- oh it burns!”

Raquel laughed at the younger girl. “I was just about to tell you to drink it slowly.”

Gail took several breaths, still spitting. “Ah, oh… I feel like I just… swallowed a sponge.”

“Now,” Raquel continued, “the energy should’ve had enough time to settle in your body. Hold up your hand, and concentrate.”

“O-Okay.” Gail did as she was asked. As she focused, there was a spark, and a small flame ignited over her fingertip. “Whoa!” she cried. “It really-” But then, the flame went out. “Wha- no! No don’t go out!”

“It’s alright,” Raquel said. “The small dose you took wouldn’t have lasted long. Just like how the spells in your tomes are used up with each cast, there’s only a finite amount of energy that can be extracted from an object.”

Gail looked to the witch hopefully, but Raquel cut her off: “I know what you’re going to ask. No, I don’t have any potions that contain wind essence. My element of choice is fire, so I have no need for them.”

Gail’s shoulder slumped, but she reluctantly said, “That’s… probably for the best. I don’t think I could drink another drop of that stuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raquel: A post-rework character, Raquel’s initial inspiration was not a character, but a whole Fire Emblem class- the Witch, specifically. Over time, she took on elements from Dragon Crown’s Sorceress and to a lesser extent, Blazblue’s Nine, with all the fanservice such characters entail. For a while, Raquel didn’t have much of a personality, though after some consideration and ironing out her backstory, I decided to make her hostile, belligerent, and somewhat immature. Archetype wise, she doesn’t really fit into any of the standard spots. Her ideal voice actor would be Laura Landa.
> 
> Gideon: Gideon was created right alongside Raquel as her companion. Initially, I’d planned for Raquel and Gideon to have a relationship like that of Pit and Palutena from Kid Icarus- though Raquel significantly drifted away from Palutena’s character, Gideon remained largely unchanged. Aside from Pit, he has two major inspirations- Forrest from Fates, as a male Troubadour (his creation would in fact motivate me to continue this trend), and Bran Stark from Game of Thrones, as a crippled character whose horse-riding skills compensate for his inability to walk on his own. His closest parallel in archetypes would be the Maria. His mount- a summoned skeletal horse- was a fairly late addition. Would be voiced by Antony del Rio, if he had a voice actor. 
> 
> Elizabeth: Elizabeth was actually the second character to be inspired by Morag from Xenoblade 2, after Ingrid. This can be seen in my attempt to emulate a strong Scottish accent, and a few elements of her personality and backstory. Her appearance was also inspired by Hilde from Soulcalibur, and Cordelia from Awakening, although unlike the latter, she doesn’t quite fall into the Catria archetype. Like her initial inspiration, Elizabeth was always intended to be very masculine, but it wasn’t until fairly late that I decided to make her somewhat androgynous as well, which would technically make her a gender inversion of the “beautiful priest” archetype. If she had a voice actress, it would most likely be Erin Fitzgerald.  
> Elizabeth’s Ring of Power, Balor, takes its name from the figure from Irish mythology, who could cause devastation when he opened his single eye. In terms of appearance and workings, it more closely emulates the Omega Beams used by Darkseid from the DC Universe. 
> 
> Mt. Felhold: The word “félhold” means “crescent” in Hungarian, referring to the circular hole near the peak of the mountain. I just entered “crescent” into Wiktionary and picked the translation I liked the most.
> 
> The Dullahan: The Dullahan was inspired by the creature of the same name of Irish mythology. Further information about its nature will be revealed as the story progresses.


	12. Chapter IX: Couteau Bridge

**Ch. IX: Couteau Bridge**

**Lithe 22, 706**

 For the next two days, Elizabeth escorted the vanguard to Fort Branden. The rugged foothills of the Anetos were far behind, and all around, they saw only gently rolling, sparsely wooded hills. But although the terrain was easier, the vanguard’s pace was slow, much slower than it had been when they travelled over the mountains. The reasons were twofold- their group was larger, to be sure, but mostly, it was because the vanguard could finally breathe easier, now that they were in friendly territory.

Quinn marched near the middle of the column. Ahead of him was Ingrid, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. He hadn’t spoken to her at all on this day, but even so, he watched her. And had watched her over the last two days, since their conversation before leaving Fort Felhold…

_Ingrid crossed her arms over her chest. “A vision,” she said stoically._

_Quinn nodded. “Yeah.” He held up his hand, looking down at Norn. “Normally, Norn only shows me what will happen in the next few seconds. It’s how I saved Captain Uther at Tol Castell. It’s what let me get through all these battles so far. But, when King Oswald was assassinated, I saw something…_ different _.”_

_“In what way?” the inquisitor asked._

_Quinn took a breath, searching for the words with which to describe his experience. “It was… longer. I saw… people I don’t know. Heard voices I don’t recognize. I wasn’t sure what to make of all of it, until last night. That… thing we fought… it was one of the things I saw.” He then shared all the details of his vision as best he could, sharing everything he’d seen and heard._

_When he’d finally finished, Ingrid was silent for a while. After several long, worrying moments, she finally spoke. “‘The flag of my forefathers…’” she mused. “If I had to guess, that most likely refers to one of the territories occupied by Kherson. As for everything else… I’m sorry, Quinn, but there isn’t enough to work with.”_

_Quinn let out a disappointed sigh. It was as he feared- his vision was simply too vague to be interpreted._

_For several moments, the two were silent. Then, Ingrid mumbled, “There_ is _something…”_

_Quinn perked up at once. “What? What is it?”_

_Again, Ingrid was silent for several moments, until she shook her head, and turned away. “…No. Never mind. When we return to Bannon, you should share your vision with Mother Agnes. She has much greater awareness of world affairs than I do. She may recognize one of the people you described.”_

And that was that. The rest of that day, Quinn had tried prodding Ingrid for more information, but she simply repeated that he should share his vision with Mother Agnes. Her responses made Quinn suspicious. Suspicious that… she knew something. But what did she know? And, why would she hide it? It wasn’t as though there had never been things she was unwilling to discuss. But, if Quinn touched on something that was off-limits, Ingrid would tell him so directly- she had never tried to misdirect him before.

Again, Quinn mulled over his vision. Most of what he heard was incredibly vague, but there _were_ two names that he couldn’t place: Navarro, and-

“Heeeey!” someone called.

Quinn looked up, just in time to run into Ingrid. Giving a quick “Sorry,” he stepped aside to see the commotion. On the road ahead stood a person, waving vigorously toward the column. A slender woman, with long blonde hair reaching her waist, and bright pink clothes that left very little to the imagination. He’d only met her a few times, but for Quinn, there could be no mistaking that distinct character- his fellow Archon, Evangelyne.

The column came to a stop. Elizabeth spurred her pegasus forward, pointing her lance at the blonde woman. “ _State yer business,_ ” she demanded.

Ingrid hurried forward. “Lady Lecarde,” she said quickly, “this woman is Master Evangelyne of the Archonite Order. She’s an ally.”

Elizabeth glanced back to Uther. The captain nodded silently, and the pegasus knight lowered her lance. Ingrid turned her attention back to Evangelyne. “I apologize, Master Evangelyne,” she began. “But-”

But Evangelyne strode past Elizabeth and Ingrid, ignoring the latter’s words, and pushed her way through the column, before finally stopping in front of Quinn. For several moments, the blonde woman looked him up and down in silence, slowly circling him. “My my,” she said. “It seems like every time we meet, you have more and more women hanging off of you, Quinn.”

Quinn stammered, stepping back from Evangelyne slightly. “Uh…”

The blonde woman’s eyes darted between the female members of the vanguard. “Quite a broad selection you have. Ah, but you’re young- you’ll find what excites you in due time. Now…” Evangelyne’s tone shifted, becoming lower, more… _alluring_ . “…which of these lucky ladies is the new Ringbearer Ingrid was telling us about? Is it… _her_ , maybe?” Her eyes turned to Raquel, and she let out a low growl.

Quinn could only watch Evangelyne in confusion. “That… would be Noel,” he replied hesitantly. He turned, and called, “Hey Noel, come over here.”

Noel quickly bounded up in excitement, but for some reason, as soon as she laid eyes on Evangelyne, the girl’s smile vanished, and she stood still, as if all the energy had been drained out of her.

Evangelyne, too, stopped smiling as she looked at the younger girl. “Oh… _oh_ , this is…” She trailed off, her disappointed expression clear as day as she circled around Noel. “I have to admit, I was excited to hear another woman would be joining us, but I have to admit I was expecting… _more_ .” She gave the younger girl one last look. “…Still, there _may_ be some potential.” Evangelyne extended her hand toward Noel, to touch her face. “It may be that in time, our little Noel will blossom into a beautiful flower of-”

But all at once, Noel snapped forward, trying to bite Evangelyne’s hand. The blonde woman pulled back, but Noel stood, tense, growling with her teeth bared. “ _Noel!_ ” both Ingrid and Francis snapped.

“ _My_ ,” Evangelyne said, her tone dark. “Aren’t _you_ ill-mannered?”

Ingrid stepped forward, loudly clearing her throat. “ _Master Evangelyne_ ,” she said. “This is… quite the surprise. I was led to believe you were still in Bannon.”

Evangelyne sighed. “I know the saying is ‘business before pleasure,’ but I can’t help but feel you take it a bit too far, Ingrid.”

Ingrid didn’t reply. She simply crossed her arms over her chest, and waited.

Evangelyne sighed again, but said, “…We’ve had a lot of casualties on our side, more than Parliament was expecting. So, Mother Agnes sent me to Fort Branden’s field hospital to help our forces recover. When I heard you were on your way, I decided to come out to meet you.”

Uther spurred his mount forward. “How is the army faring?” he asked.

“I know Isaac’s the one in charge, but since I’m here, I might as well fill you in on what’s been going on,” Evangelyne replied. She then turned, and began walking down the road, Uther and the rest of the column moving to follow her.

As they walked, Evangelyne continued: “Our forces have managed to advance into Burgundy and occupy the Rhodan region, but we’ve been stopped at the Baie de Couteau. Isaac’s attempted to press on by capturing the Couteau Bridge, but so far, all the attempts have failed.” She turned, walking backwards as she spoke. “I’ll be honest- things are not looking good for us. If we can’t turn things around, and do it now, then this war is as good as over.”

Quinn leaned toward Ingrid. “Why would Mother Agnes send Evangelyne to help, Miss Ingrid?”

“Evangelyne bears the Ring of Power, Amrita” she replied. “It allows her to heal even the most grievous of wounds, whether inflicted on her, or others.”

“Oh, it can do so much _more_ than that, Ingrid,” Evangelyne added. She fell in step with Quinn, draping an arm across his shoulder. “Did you think looks like _this_ happened by accident?” She pressed herself much too closely against Quinn for his liking, and he tried to pull away. Ingrid simply sighed in exasperation.

* * *

 The sun had begun to set by the time the group reached Fort Branden, bathing the whole sky in an orange light. The fort standing at the end of the road was not at all like Fort Guyenne: it was larger, its reddish-brown walls built in a circle standing fifteen _peds_ tall, completely contrasting the short square walls and dull grey bricks of the Burgundian fort. A tall tower, built from the same reddish-brown stone as the walls, stood at the heart of the fort. But what shocked Quinn the most was the number of tents and pavilions blanketing the fields outside the fort, packed so closely together that no grass could be seen beneath them. Between them, and entering and leaving the fort, were soldiers without number, some on foot, some on horseback. Quinn recognized the blue uniforms worn by some of the soldiers- the soldiers in Tristan wore the same uniform. So, they must have been Bannish soldiers. But most wore unfamiliar uniforms of green and white- these men must have been from Hessen, he thought.

Evangelyne stepped out in front of the vanguard. “Isaac should be over in the tower,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back to my patients.” She scurried off into the sea of tents, alone.

Looking over the army for a moment, Uther turned to the rest of the vanguard. “Alright,” he began. “The inquisitor, Quinn, and myself will meet with the commander of the Hessian forces. The rest of you, remain here and set up camp. You’ll be on standby until we return. Fiona, you’re in charge until then.”

Fiona saluted, and replied “Yes, Captain,” before turning to the others. “Alright everyone, you heard the Captain. Let’s find ourselves a campsite. Move out!”

As the vanguard moved on, Quinn heard Gail complain “Aw… I wanted to see the Professor…”

“Hah. Weren’t they supposed to escort us to a town?” Raquel huffed.

But as the others obeyed the captain’s command and followed Fiona, one among their number remained still. “Lady Lecarde,” Uther said. “The rest of the vanguard is on standby. That includes you.”

Elizabeth stiffened, raising her lance as though standing at attention. “Apologies, Yer Majesty, but Aye was asked to escort yew to the Hessian commander. Aye will remain by yer side until mae mission is complete.”

Uther looked at Elizabeth silently, before dismounting. “…Very well. Lead on.”

Elizabeth did as she was ordered, and lead Uther, Ingrid, and Quinn through the camp and up to the fortress. Many of the soldiers they passed stopped and looked at them, and snatches of conversation could be heard as they passed:

“Who are they?”

“That man in front… that’s Uther! Bannon’s Captain of the Guard!”

“Where has he been all this time?”

“You see that group he was with?”

“Yeah. They didn’t look like a normal regiment…”

Quinn’s chest tightened, and he felt himself struggling to breathe. So many eyes were watching him… His pace slowed, and Uther and Ingrid grew further and further away, as Quinn focused all his effort on trying to keep his breathing level.

Before long though, Quinn’s feet stopped moving entirely. It was taking all his concentration to simply keep breathing in and out. He turned his head down, to avoid the soldiers’ stares, simply focused on-

Something grabbed his hand. He jolted, and tried to pull back, until a soothing voice came to his ears: “It’s alright, Quinn. Just focus on me.” He looked up, to find himself face-to-face with Ingrid.

Quinn couldn’t find his voice, so he simply nodded. Ingrid laced her fingers in-between his, and slowly walked with him to the fortress gate. The warmth of her hand was comforting, and although it was still hard to breathe, he was able to keep moving forward once more. Ahead, he heard Elizabeth say faintly, “Aye have returned with His Majesty Captain Uther, as requested by Commander Isaac.” The soldiers nodded and stepped aside, and the group was allowed to enter the fort.

Once he set foot in the fort, it was as though a great weight had been lifted from Quinn’s chest. He bent forward, breathing deeply as he clutched his chest. After several breaths, he looked up to the inquisitor. “Thank you, Miss Ingrid,” he said weakly.

Ingrid slowly freed her hand from Quinn’s grip. “I forgot that you don’t handle crowds very well,” she said. “Now, Master Evangelyne said Isaac should be in the tower. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

The four entered the tower, passing another set of guards, and climbed the spiraling stone steps that ascended the tower’s interior. As they climbed, a man’s voice echoed down from somewhere above. “…and the status of the supply line?”

“The supply line is secure,” another man’s voice replied, much younger than the first. “We’ve faced some resistance from bandits, but so far, no Burgundians have been sighted.”

“Very good.” The first man then asked, “Have the scouts reported in yet?”

“Not yet, Professor,” the second man replied. “But, they should report back before sunset.”

Quinn knew both of those voices very well. In spite of himself, he raced up the stairs, past Uther and Elizabeth, up to the landing. There was a door there, and without waiting, he pushed it open. The room beyond was cluttered with documents and maps, and at the center was a large table, depicting Burgundy and Hessen in detail. But Quinn’s attention was focused on the two men standing at the table. They looked tired and scruffy, and their hair was longer than he remembered, but there was no mistaking them- his fellow student, Malcolm, and their teacher, Professor Isaac. “Professor!” he said. “Malcolm!”

Isaac adjusted his glasses as soon as he saw Quinn. “Ah, Quinn. You should’ve sent word you arrived. We could have come to meet you.”

But before Quinn could reply, Elizabeth stepped out from behind Quinn and stood in front of him, clasping her arms behind her back. “Commander,” she said. “Aye have completed mae assignment.” She was joined by Uther and Ingrid.

Isaac eyed the others. “So you have.” He circled around the table, and held out his hand to Uther. “It’s good to see you well, Captain.”

Uther shook Isaac’s hand firmly. “Your associate, Evangelyne, filled us in on the situation.”

“I see.” Isaac turned back to the table. “I’m certain there’s a great deal of nuance she left out, but we can discuss the finer details later.”

But before he could step away, Uther reached out his hand, and gripped Isaac’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Professor, but Lady Lecarde and your associate led me to believe our situation was especially precarious. With all due respect, I would like to start discussing solutions as soon as possible.”

Isaac turned to face Uther. “I understand your apprehension. But, you must be tired after your journey. Why not rest, and mingle amongst the troops? Certainly, seeing Bannon’s own Captain of the Guard would do wonders for their morale. With our recent failures, the army could certainly do with some good news.” The professor turned back to the table. “If nothing else, we should wait to convene until our scouts have returned.”

Uther was quiet as Isaac walked back to the table, before replying, “Very well. I would like the chance to assess the troops for myself as well.” Uther turned away. “We overheard you mentioning your scouts would return at sunset. Let’s hold a meeting then.”

“As you wish, Captain,” Isaac replied.

Uther nodded, and looked to Elizabeth. “Let us be off, Lady Lecarde.”

Elizabeth saluted. “Yes, Yer Majesty,” she said, before she and the captain left the room.

Ingrid laid a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “We should be off too, Quinn,” she said.

Quinn looked back at the inquisitor. “What? Why?”

“You’ll need a new weapon to replace the one you broke. The quartermaster should have something to spare for you.”

At first, Quinn could only look at Ingrid in confusion. “What’re you- Oh. Right.” In the heat of everything that had happened, he’d forgotten that he was technically unarmed. He let Ingrid lead the way, until-

“Wait.”

Ingrid and Quinn looked back to Isaac. “Is there something else, Master Isaac?” Ingrid asked.

Isaac adjusted his glasses again. “I… just wanted to say I’m glad to see both of you are still alive.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Professor,” Quinn replied.

“Thank you for your concern,” Ingrid added, before leading Quinn out of the room.

* * *

 Before long, night had fallen. After arming himself, Quinn returned to the tower, looking out over its battlements as he awaited the meeting. The new axe hanging from his belt felt strange- it was heavier than his last, being forged from steel, but would hopefully be sturdy enough to withstand any challenge.

Far below, he could see countless fires spread through the camp outside the fort. Within the fortress walls, upon a well-lit stage, a woman clad in black danced before a crowd of soldiers. Even at his distance, he could see the grace and fluidity of her movements- she must have been very skilled, an assessment the crowd agreed with, if their roars of excitement were any indication.

“Quinn,” a familiar voice said. But it wasn’t Professor Isaac.

Quinn looked back, to see a plain-looking young man in a long black coat standing on the far side of the tower’s roof. “Malcolm,” he said.

“I’ve been looking for you,” the fellow student said. “I thought you’d be at your camp with the rest of your unit.”

Quinn sighed, and turned, leaning against the battlements. “Sorry. But, you know I don’t… handle crowds very well.” He looked back. “How have you been?”

Malcolm leaned against the battlement, next to Quinn. “The Professor and I have been well, all things considered. And you?”

Quinn hung his head slightly. “I can’t say things have been easy, but… I’m still alive, at least.”

Malcolm smiled slightly. “That’s good to hear. The Professor said he was surprised by how well you’ve been holding up. Gail, too.”

Quinn paled. Gail had followed him after the Professor had left for Hessen. There was absolutely no way he could have known that she was travelling with him. “How… does he know about Gail?”

“That inquisitor, Ingrid, has been sending in reports to the Professor and Mother Agnes ever since you left the capital.” Malcolm then pushed himself away from the battlements. “But, we should save the catching-up for later. The meeting’s about to begin.”

Quinn followed Malcolm down the steps into the tower, and back to the map room. Most of the other members of the vanguard were gathered in the small room with enough chairs set around the table for everyone to sit. Once Quinn and Malcolm entered, Isaac called out, “Alright! Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin.”

Everyone, except for the Professor and Malcolm, sat. Quinn found himself seated between Gail and Ingrid. Once everyone was seated, Isaac said, “Unfortunately, our scouts have yet to return to bring us more recent intelligence. However, from the information gathered during our previous skirmishes, I believe I can create an accurate assessment of the Burgundians’ defenses.”

Isaac pointed to a map pinned to a standing board. It seemed to depict the Baie de Couteau, with a long structure stretching over it- the Couteau Bridge- and a number of strange marks drawn on it. “The Burgundians have erected a large barricade on the northern edge of the bridge. There are additional, smaller barricades placed at regular intervals on the bridge itself. Each is manned by a number of archers, making an aerial attack on the bridge almost impossible.”

Isaac pointed to a specific mark on the map, near the top. “The barricade at the north end is particularly resilient. In our four skirmishes with the Burgundians thus far, we’ve only successfully breached it once…”

Quinn sat silently, trying to make sense of the information the Professor was sharing… when all at once, there was a flash of light.

Quinn flinched. But when he opened his eyes, he was not seated, nor even still in Fort Branden’s tower. Rather, he suddenly found himself amidst the rest of the vanguard, mid-march. He hurried to fall in step, looking at his surroundings- he seemed to be on some kind of stone bridge, that stretched on without end both in front and behind.

Up ahead, someone broke free from the line, and raced over to the edge of the bridge, looking down. The blonde hair and dark skin could only belong to one person. “Quinn, come look!” Gail called.

Quinn approached the edge, and took one quick look before recoiling. Beneath them, the sea looked far away, as if they were crossing over a second sky. “Ah…” His stomach churned, even though the bridge beneath him was steady. “I… don’t think I like high places that much.”

“Hey, fall in!” Quinn heard Uther shout. “We’re not here to sightsee!”

“Y-Yes, Captain!” Quinn called back, and hurried back to his place in the column.

But before he could reach the others, the bridge beneath his feet jerked violently. He staggered, and almost fell, but caught himself and regained his balance. But then, the bridge shook a second time, sending him sprawling. As he tried to rise to his feet, he shouted out, “ _What’s going on!_ ”

“Everyone, fall back! _Fall back,_ **_now!_ ** ” Uther screamed.

But it was too late. The stone beneath him collapsed, and Quinn’s ears filled with the sounds of his own screams as he plummeted to the waters below.

A second flash blinded Quinn, and he jolted. He was once again seated in the map room between Gail and Ingrid. He sat, breathing hard, shivering from a cold sweat on his back. It took several second before Quinn realized that the meeting was still going:

“…there is a significant risk,” Isaac said, “but I believe that by systematically burning down the barricades on the bridge with Fire magic as we cross, we-”

Quinn then stood up. He swayed slightly, still feeling weak from what he had just seen. But he couldn’t let things go any further. He said aloud, weakly, “No.”

“Quinn?” Malcolm asked.

Isaac folded his arms across his chest. “Quinn, I must ask that any comments be held until the end of the meeting,” he said.

“ _No,_ ” Quinn repeated, more firmly. “We _can’t_ go on the bridge. If we do… then everyone here will die.”

Isaac blinked, clearly taken aback. “What are you-”

At that moment, Ingrid stood up. “You had another vision, didn’t you?” She placed her hands on his shoulders. “What did you see?”

It took a moment for Quinn to collect himself enough to reply. “…we were… crossing over the bridge. Then, the whole thing started to shake, and then… it _fell out_ from under all of us.”

The room was silent for a moment, before Elizabeth finally spoke: “And, we are meant to trust this… _vision_ of yers?”

Isaac looked to Elizabeth. “As caretaker of Balor, I would hope you of all people would know better than to doubt a Ring of Power’s abilities, Miss Lecarde,” he said sternly. “Your captain owes his life to one of Quinn’s visions.” Elizabeth sank back into her seat silently, while Isaac mused, “Collapsing the bridge…”

“Seems pretty underhanded,” Gwin said, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t put it past the Browns.”

“But… why?” Julius asked. “Destroying the bridge and isolating Rhodan from the rest of Burgundy would not be to their benefit.”

Isaac looked to the priest. “That’s not entirely true,” he said. “Yes, the bridge _is_ vital for connecting Rhodan to the rest of Burgundy, and rebuilding it would be difficult if it were destroyed. But at present, it’s the only overland route into the heartlands a force our size could take, and if it stops our advance, then destroying the bridge will only benefit the Burgundians. All the more if doing so eliminates a portion of our forces.”

Just then, something flew into the room through a window, and came to a rest on the table: a raven with black feathers. It hopped across the table toward Isaac, and said in a deep male voice, “Isaac, the scouts have returned.”

“Orion…” Isaac replied as he looked down at the bird. “What took them so long?”

“The scouts reported unusual activity, so we sent out a second team from Bertelak to verify their report. Our second team has just returned.”

“What did they find?” the Professor asked.

“Their report matches the first team’s,” Orion replied. “The Burgundians have abandoned their forward positions, and are fortifying their camp on the south end of the bridge.”

The room fell silent, as the members of the vanguard looked at one another. After several moments, Isaac asked, “Where are the scouts now?”

“Your team is resting here in Bertelak. We’ve sent out the second team to watch the bridge for any further activity, but they’ve been ordered not to advance.”

Isaac nodded. “Good. Notify us if anything changes.”

The raven nodded in turn and replied, “Of course,” before dissolving into a cloud of black smoke.

“This is extremely suspicious,” Uther said. “We need to investigate this.”

“Indeed,” Isaac replied. “We should set out tomorrow with a small detachment to make an assessment. Until then, I believe it would be best to adjourn this meeting.”

* * *

 A thick fog blanketed the fort when dawn broke the next day. The vanguard, along with a detachment of soldiers, set out for Couteau Bridge. By midday, they reached the Baie de Couteau- a gulf that divided northern Burgundy from the rest of the country. Ahead, sheer cliffs of dark stone dropped straight down hundreds of _peds_ into the waters below, and the far side was so distant it simply faded into a dull grey haze. Spanning that distance was an enormous arched bridge of grey stone, wide enough that ten people could walk side-by-side unobstructed. Quinn could only gawk silently- there was no way ordinary people could have built something like this.

“Waoh!” Noel cried, bounding ahead to look at the bridge. “It’s big!”

“That’s something you don’t see every day…” Gwin said.

Uther looked down the bridge, before spotting something. He pointed and said, “Look.”

It was just as Orion’s report had said. A hastily-erected wooden gate, flanked by two short wooden towers, and countless palisades and other fortifications, stood at the mouth of the bridge, unmanned. Across the bay, numerous columns of smoke trailed high into the sky- although it couldn’t be seen at this distance, they must have belonged to the Burgundian camp.

“Yeah, this is a trap if I’ve ever seen one,” Lindow commented, crossing his arms over his chest.

Isaac turned to Uther. “We should set up camp and discuss our options.”

“Agreed,” Uther replied.

The vanguard quickly erected their camp, and gathered around Isaac’s maps to plan their next move. They kept one eye turned to the bridge, expecting that at any moment, the Burgundians would advance upon them. But throughout the day, the bridge remained empty.

“…Can’t we just fly over the bay?” Quinn asked.

“We don’t have the manpower, or the time, to ferry every soldier and our supplies by pegasus knights,” Uther replied. “We need a steady supply line if we’re to advance any deeper into Burgundy. And to have that, we _need_ to take this bridge.”

“We’ve gotta get behind them somehow…” Gwin muttered to himself, before asking out loud: “Could we double back through the mountains?”

“No. Even for a small force, that would take too much time,” Isaac replied.

The vanguard fell silent. Until Lindow then spoke up: “…I might have an idea.”

Quinn looked back- Lindow was there, but further back from the others, standing rather than sitting. “Lindow?” he asked.

Lindow stepped forward, turning his attention to Isaac. “That ring you’ve got… it can send people to faraway places, right?”

Isaac blinked in surprise. “Bifrost?” He looked down at his ring. “Well, it certainly could ferry a handful of soldiers, but not the entire army. Bifrost’s portals can only be opened for a short time, and its effective range shrinks with each consecutive use until it’s recharged. We would need weeks to-”

But Lindow interrupted. “We won’t need the whole army for this.”

Uther eyed Lindow with suspicion. “It seems you have something in mind, thief,” he said.

Lindow stood up, and walked toward the bridge. “We can use a small team to infiltrate the enemy camp, locate their commanders, and kill or capture them,” the thief replied. “If we disrupt the chain of command, it shouldn’t be hard to force the Burgundians to surrender.”

“Of course one as low as yew would resort to such a vile plan,” Elizabeth hissed. “Aye will not sully Bannon’s honor with such dishonorable tactics.”

Lindow looked back, crossing his arms and giving the pegasus knight a glare. “That’s fine with me. You can fight them honorably. And when you get yourself killed, I’ll step over your corpse and get the job done.”

Elizabeth shot up to her feet, but before she could say anything, Isaac interrupted. “Lindow-” He glanced to Lindow. “-your name was Lindow, right?” When Lindow nodded, the professor looked back to Elizabeth. “…Lindow raises a good point- the direct approach has failed several times already. As things are, subterfuge may be the only way to capture the bridge.” He then looked down, bringing a hand to his chin as the thought. “We’ll need to assemble a team to assist you. It wouldn’t do to send you into their camp alone.”

Lindow scratched his head. “Well, I _could_ do it myself,” he said. He then glanced to Elizabeth. “I get the feeling our fair Lady wouldn’t appreciate that, though.”

Ingrid stood. “I’d like to join this team,” she said. “I have experience with infiltration.”

After a moment, Juno stood up as well. “Hell, I’ll come too,” she said. “I might not be as sharp as I was back in the agoge, but I know how plenty about how to creep around unnoticed.”

Francis stood. Noel tried to stand too, but he gently laid a hand on her shoulder and returned her to her seat. “I believe my skill would serve you well in this.”

Uther began to stand. “As Captain, I have a duty to oversee this mission.”

“Sorry, but no can do,” Lindow replied. “Same with the rest of your entourage. Cavalry would draw too much attention- anyone who comes in would have to come on foot.”

Uther returned to his seat with an odd expression. Noticing this, Isaac quickly asked, “May Malcolm and I join you? If you can gather intelligence for me, I could form an effective plan of attack.”

Several moments passed before Lindow replied, “…Alright.” He then counted on his fingers. “…the people I ran with always preferred to have seven people on a job, so we’ve got room for one more.” Lindow’s eyes swept over the rest of the vanguard. “How about… _you_ , kid?” His eyes fell on Quinn.

Quinn jumped slightly. “Huh? Me?”

Ingrid looked to Lindow. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Wouldn’t feel right to have my boss sit things out,” Lindow replied. “Besides, if we get into a scrape, we might need a heavy-hitter to bail us out. And the kid is probably the heaviest hitter we’ve got.”

Ingrid simply looked at Lindow with her eyes narrowed.

“Hey look, I’m not just good at what I do. I’m the best in my field. If the kid sticks with me and does exactly what I tell him, then he’ll get through this just fine.”

Ingrid continued to narrow her eyes at Lindow. But Isaac spoke up: “Well, if our team has been assembled, then we should be off.”

“Wait, what?” Quinn asked, confused. “Shouldn’t we wait until nightfall?”

“The light from Bifrost would draw too much attention in the dark. And, we’ll need to gather intel on the Burgundian camp before mounting our assault. Now would be the best time to go.” As he spoke, Isaac drew a circle in the air with his left hand, before touching its center. At once, a portal, shimmering in all the colors of the rainbow, opened in the air before him; at the same time, a light flashed in the mist on the far side of the bay.

Lindow warily approached the portal, and placed his hand into it. When he determined it was safe, he said, “Well, as leader of this op, I suppose I should go in first.” He stepped through the shimmering portal, and after several moments, an arm emerged from the portal, waving them in.

“It looks like it’s safe,” Isaac replied “We should be going.” Isaac then stepped through the portal as well. One after another, the members of the team Lindow assembled entered the portal, until Quinn was the last person in the camp. As he prepared to step through the portal, he heard Gail call out:

“Good luck, Quinn!”

He paused, and looked back, trying to think of something to say to reassure Gail. After a moment of thought, he replied, “We have the Professor with us. We won’t need luck,” before entering the portal.

When Quinn stepped through the portal, he emerged in a world of white. The fog on the south end of the bay was much thicker than in the north, so much so that even his feet were hidden from view. He looked around, but couldn’t see anyone right away. “Hey, where’d everybody go?” he asked aloud.

“We’re here,” Francis replied, and stepped into view. The others emerged from the fog as well; a quick count showed that everyone was present and accounted for.

Lindow pushed his cloak aside and drew a dagger. “I’ll go ahead and scout out the Burgundians’ camp. The rest of you should wait here. Don’t expect me to be back right away- it’ll probably take me a few hours to get all the info we need.”

Lindow turned, but Ingrid stepped forward before he could leave. “I’ll join you,” she said. Her tone made it clear that her words were not a request.

“If… you insist,” Lindow replied, hesitantly. The thief turned, and faded into the fog, with Ingrid right on his heels.

A few moments passed in silence among the rest of the team. “Okay…” Juno began, “now what?”

“Well, I’ve been working on a few history lectures for when I return to my position at the College,” Isaac replied. “I haven’t had the chance to practice presenting them, so I’d like to know if I should make any adjustments…”

Meanwhile, Lindow and Ingrid crept through the fog, heading toward the Burgundian camp. The fog was both a blessing and a curse- it would make it easier to approach the Burgundians undetected, but at the same time, it would be harder to gather intel at a distance. Lindow crouched low, stalking through the dry, brown grass. His “companion,” however, walked upright, making little effort to conceal herself. But even so, Ingrid’s footsteps were light, almost as imperceptible as his own.

Then, seemingly from nowhere, Ingrid said aloud, “I’d like to use this time to speak to you. Away from Quinn.”

Lindow laughed, though more weakly than intended. “Always happy to chat with a beautiful woman. What about?” He tried to play calm in front of the inquisitor, but he couldn’t help but find her highly unnerving. And the strange feeling he got from her was… familiar, too. Just like-

“I must admit, I’m surprised by how well you’ve integrated into our unit,” Ingrid said, interrupting his thoughts. “But even so, I don’t trust you.”

Lindow turned his gaze away. “That’s fine with me,” he replied coldly. “I didn’t come into this line of work expecting to be liked.” He gave a small smile. “…Which makes all the attention from the ladies is an unexpected- but not _unwelcome_ bonus.”

Ingrid continued, “You’re alive now because Quinn took you in as a retainer. Do not forget your debt to him. And if you do anything to betray the trust he has put in you… then I will ensure you regret it.”

“Awfully protective of him, aren’t you?” he asked. “You should watch yourself- people might get the wrong idea about the two of you.”

Ingrid laid her hand on the hilt of her sword, fixing Lindow with a cold gaze. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“Whoa whoa hey now, there’s no need for that.” Lindow backed away from Ingrid, hands raised. “Look, I _know_ I owe the kid. So you have my word that I’ll have his back. Always.”

“See to it that you do. I _will_ be watching you.” Ingrid looked away, the cold expression never leaving her face. “Now come. The camp shouldn’t be far.”

Lindow followed Ingrid. He’d had his suspicions before, but now he knew for certain, though it seemed she didn’t.

He and Ingrid… were the same.

* * *

 It was well past sunset when Ingrid and Lindow finally returned. The others simply waited in the dark, the enemy much too close to risk lighting a campfire, a thick fog still blanketing their surroundings. But eventually, Lindow and Ingrid finally emerged from the darkness. “Alright, I think we have enough to work with,” the thief said.

Without waiting for a response, Lindow knelt down, and began to scratch something into the earth with his dagger. It was a cluster of boxes, in a rough circular shape, with X’s drawn at various spots on the perimeter. Quinn soon realized that the design must have been a map of the Burgundians’ camp, and the X’s the camp’s guards.

Lindow’s comment when he finished and stepped back confirmed what Quinn suspected: “Alright, we managed to map out the Burgundians’ camp and where their sentries are posted.”

“We’re in luck,” Ingrid added. “The Burgundians’ garrison is undermanned at the moment, and reinforcements are a few days out.”

“How many men do they have?” Isaac asked.

Ingrid answered, “About twenty-five able-bodied men in all.”

“And their commanding officers?”

“Just one- someone named Varrot.” Ingrid adjusted her cap. “We weren’t able to identify the target, though.”

“I see…” Isaac studied the map in silence, and began mumbling to himself: “…the guards are mostly concentrated on the north and south ends of the camp- no real surprise there, since they’ll be watching the roads. There’s a few sentries on the east and west sides, but…” He then pointed to two blank spots on the top of the map. “What about these parts here?”

“They’re by the cliffs on each side of the bridge. There’s nothing over there,” Lindow replied.

Isaac regarded the blank spaces for several moments, before he said, “I think we’ve found our entry points.”

“What should we do, Professor?” Malcolm asked.

Isaac knelt down, and traced two arrows in the dirt. “I think our best plan should be to split into two groups, with each entering through one of these points. We’ll search the camp, avoiding the sentries, and neutralize the commander.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Juno said. “How should we split ourselves up?”

Isaac was quiet in thought for a few moments. “Lindow, Quinn, and Malcolm will comprise the first team. Miss Ingrid, Francis, and yourself will comprise the second, Miss Juno.”

Ingrid looked down at the Professor. “And what about you, Master Isaac?”

Isaac drew a circle in the dirt beneath the map of the camp. “I’ll observe the camp at a distance. If any of you are compromised, I’ll move in and draw the Burgundians’ attention away from you.”

“All by yourself?” Francis asked, incredulous.

“I was chosen to be an instructor at the Arcane College for a reason,” the replied, with a strange, boastful tone Quinn had never heard before. “These fools have absolutely no idea who they’re dealing with.”

With the plan laid out, the group waited for another hour to pass, ensuring that all but the sentries would be fast asleep, before approaching the camp. Here, they parted ways- Lindow’s team would approach from the west, while Ingrid’s team circled the camp, to approach from the east. Professor Isaac moved to a safe distance south of the camp, out of sight of the sentries, to observe the two teams.

Lindow crept through the darkness silently, with Quinn and Malcolm not-so-silently following in his footsteps. Fortunately, the sentry patrolling the west edge of the camp was on the south side, far enough away that the three would neither be seen nor heard. Before the three reached the camp, however, Lindow held up a fist, signaling for the three to stop, and turned to face Quinn and Malcolm. “Alright,” the thief began. “Remember, we’re here for Varrot. Nobody else. Stay out of sight, and avoid picking any fights if you can help it.”

“What are we supposed to do if we run into someone?” Quinn asked.

“I’m not saying _not_ to fight back,” Lindow replied. “But every person we kill other than the target can draw unnecessary attention And we can’t stay put for too long. The longer we stay still, the easier it is for someone to find us.”

“I’m… not so sure about this now…” Malcolm said, hesitantly.

Lindow turned back to the camp, looking to Malcolm from over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Just do exactly what I do, and do exactly what I tell you, and you’ll be just fine. Now let’s go.”

The three entered the camp. They remained crouched low, the lines of tents beside them shielding them from view. Quinn couldn’t help but jolt slightly at every snore, every shifting sound that sounded from all around. But Lindow showed no reaction to the sounds at all. It seemed he truly was a professional.

But all at once, there was a loud shuffling from one of the tents. Lindow stopped, as did Quinn and Malcolm, before pointing to the left. Quinn didn’t understand at first, but Malcolm seemingly did, as he and Lindow quickly squeezed through the small gaps between the tents, and entered the next row. Quinn followed them, and looked back; a man had emerged from one of the tents, and stumbled through the row where the three had just been, grumbling.

Once the man was out of earshot, Malcolm said in a low voice, “That was close.”

“Way too close,” Lindow replied, looking to Quinn. “You’ve gotta be quicker on the uptake than that, kid.”

Quinn shrank slightly. “I’m sorry…” he whispered.

The three continued onward. They stopped several times when strange sounds emanated from the tents, but fortunately, no other soldiers emerged. As they stalked through the camp, Malcolm said something aloud, something Quinn hadn’t considered until that moment: “You know, I just realized- we have no idea how to find this Varrot person.”

Lindow glanced back. “Well, officers are usually nobles, so they’re used to higher standards of living than the average soldier. Keep your eyes peeled for anything that seems out-of-place: a tent that’s bigger and fancier than the ones around it, or a sentry…”

The thief trailed off. Quinn easily figured out why- voices were approaching their position. A man and a woman, speaking to one another. At first, he thought it was the other team. But he quickly realized the voices were unfamiliar to him, and the two were speaking much too loudly to have been his comrades. Furthermore, there was a light approaching as well- surely, the others would know better than to light a torch.

Lindow motioned again, and the three hid themselves from view behind the tents. As they did, they heard a woman’s voice ask, “…And the status of the coalition force on the north end of the bridge?”

“They appear to be yet another scouting party,” a man replied. “They’ve set up camp, but have not advanced, and we haven’t received reports of any major troop movements away from Fort Branden.”

“Strange… the Bannish aren’t usually so cautious,” the woman said.

Lindow glanced out, before motioning for Quinn and Malcolm to look as well. The two young men peered out between the tents- on the other side of the line, just a few _peds_ away, were two people. One was an ordinary-looking Burgundian soldier, but the other was a stern-looking woman, with blonde hair pulled into a small bun.

“What’s with that lady’s outfit?” Quinn whispered. The woman didn’t wear the standard wine-red tunic of the other soldiers- rather, she wore a red coat with long tails and sleeves, and bright gold buttons.

“I think we found our officer,” Lindow replied. “Gotta love ‘em and their fancy uniforms.”

“So we’ve found our target,” Malcolm said. “What now?”

Lindow looked to Quinn. “It’s your call, kid- take ‘em down now, or wait for them to split up.”

Quinn peered out again- the man continued his report, and it didn’t seem it would end any time soon. He recalled what Lindow said- if they remained in place too long, they would risk being discovered. Both the soldier’s and the woman’s back were turned, so it wouldn’t be difficult to sneak up on them… but sounds from any struggle would doubtlessly draw attention.

Quinn inhaled, and steeled himself. They would simply have to take their chances. “Let’s take them out.”

Lindow nodded. “Alright then.” He silently drew a dagger. “I’ll get the commander. You take care of the bodyguard.”

“What should I do?” Malcolm asked.

“Watch our backs. Magic is a little too noisy for what I have in mind.” He looked to Quinn and said, “Wait here,” before creeping out of the gap between the tents. Quinn waited, until he saw Lindow’s head poke out from a gap a few tents down, on the other side of the man and woman. The thief said nothing, simply tilting his head to the two. But Quinn understood- _You go first. I’ll follow._

Quinn nodded in reply. For a moment, he thought about the best approach- should he rush the soldier, or creep up slowly, and spring his attack at the last moment? He drew his axe from its place on his belt and tensed- he should be close enough to rush the two before they could react. He drew in a breath, before darting out from between the tents, and charging.

In moments, Quinn reached the man and woman. The two had only just begun turning toward the sound of his footsteps. The guard never stood a chance- with his back turned, he caught only the barest glimpse of Quinn before his axe bit into his neck. The woman stumbled back as the man fell. “Wha-” But before she could say anything or draw her weapon, Lindow darted around and behind the officer, and held his blade against her throat.

“Normally I’d say ‘Someone forgot to shave this morning,’” Lindow said wryly. “But that might be a little awkward for _you_ , now wouldn’t it?”

The woman’s eyes darted between Quinn and Lindow. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?” she hissed.

Lindow touched his knife against the woman’s throat, making her flinch. “Oh no, see, that’s where you’ve got things wrong. People don’t get to ask questions when they’re in your position.”

But then, there was a loud shuffling from one of the nearby tents, and a man emerged into the next row. “What’s going on out-”

He never finished. At that moment, there was a flash, and a clap of thunder. A bolt of electricity struck the man, and he fell. Quinn turned to the source- Malcolm, standing with a tome in hand, wide-eyed, as if unable to believe his own actions.

“Kid, what the hell!? I thought you were supposed to be smart!” Lindow barked.

Malcolm could only stammer in reply. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t even think about it…”

The rest of the camp may have overlooked Quinn and Lindow’s struggle, but there would be no ignoring the thunderclap from Malcolm’s spell. Other soldiers emerged from the surrounding tents, and the sentries approached from the edges of the camp. The confusion quickly turned to angry, indignant shouts as the mass of soldiers surrounded the three. Quinn and Malcolm backed towards Lindow, retreating from the spears and swords pointed in their direction.

The woman laughed, despite Lindow still holding a blade to her neck. “Hahaha… didn’t think this plan of yours through, now did you?”

Quinn stood with his weapon raised, regretting his hasty decision. The three of them were outnumbered, surrounded on all sides, and there was no sign of the second team, not that the six of them put together would have been able to beat the mass of soldiers. The only reason they were likely even still alive was because they had Varrot as a hostage. And if they killed her, the enemy soldiers would more likely attack rather than surrender. Quinn glanced down at his hand, at Norn- they may have to make a break for it, and Norn might be the only way to get the opening they need…

But before Quinn could contemplate that plan any further, a voice from outside the camp called out, “That’s quite enough!”

All eyes turned toward the source. Isaac walked calmly up the road, a torch blazing in his hand.

The sentries that were closest rushed to confront Isaac, lances raised. “Who the hell are you!” they barked.

Isaac came to a stop. “My name is Isaac, Archon of the Archonite Order, wielder of Bifrost! If any of you value your lives, you will throw down your weapons, and surrender!”

The camp was quiet. Then, Varrot burst out laughing. It didn’t take long for other soldiers to join her, and before long, the Burgundians’ laughter echoed over the bay. But soon, Varrot composed herself, and called out to Isaac, “You’re hardly in any position to make demands from us, _Archon!_ ”

Calmly, Isaac adjusted his glasses, and continued forward. The soldiers closest to him stepped forward to block his path, weapons raised. “That’s close enough, old man!” one shouted.

Isaac remained calm, extending his hand to his side, and opening a portal. One of the sentries stumbled back from the flash, while the other held firm. The professor looked back to the soldiers: his tone was calm, as if he were casually speaking about the weather, as he said to them:

“The portal I just made connects directly to our camp at Ft. Branden. All I have to do is give one signal, and every soldier in our army will march into your camp and slaughter every last one of you. You’ve lost this battle, Commander Varrot- whether you choose to lose your lives along with it is entirely up to you.”

One of the soldiers waved his weapon in Isaac’s face. “You’re bluffing!” he shouted. The professor didn’t flinch.

But then, Commander Varrot said something Quinn didn’t expect. “Stand down.”

All eyes turned to the woman. “Commander?” one of the Burgundians asked, incredulous.

She lowered her gaze slightly. “That man… everything that man said is true. Throw down your weapons, and thank the gods that the only wounds you suffered here were to your pride.”

The soldier in front of Isaac hesitated… but in the end, he relented, and threw his lance down. The remaining soldiers cast aside their weapons as well, one after another, until all were unarmed.

Isaac entered the camp, weaving through the disarmed soldiers, until he was alongside Quinn. “As of now, all of you are claimed by Hessen as prisoners of war. So long as you conduct yourself to the standard conventions of war, we will treat you fairly.” He turned his gaze to Lindow. “Mr. Lindow, please disarm Commander Varrot, if you would.”

“Gotcha.” Lindow reached with his free hand, and the sword hanging from Varrot’s belt dropped to the ground. “Oh, what’s this we’ve got?” Lindow took notice of something, and reached into the Burgundian commander’s pocket, despite her protests. He pulled out a slip of paper, and held it out to Isaac.” Hey Teach, why not read this out loud for everyone.”

Isaac took the note, reading it in silence. “I see…” he said. “You truly _were_ planning to collapse the bridge.”

Quinn looked to the professor, stunned. He knew what he’d seen in his vision, but even so… “What, really?”

“Indeed,” Isaac replied. “A team of mages were to use Thunder spells strike a number of the bridge’s key support points. Each strike on its own would have heavily damaged the bridge, but wouldn’t have been enough to compromise its structural integrity. But several strikes, happening simultaneously… that would have been a different story.” Isaac then looked to his right, and called out, “You can come out now, Miss Ingrid.”

Ingrid, Francis, and Juno then emerged from behind a row of tents at the east edge of the camp. “Our apologies for not intervening,” Ingrid said, adjusting her cap. “But Master Isaac seemed to have the situation under control.”

Varrot’s eyes swept across the seven. “Bested by seven soldiers…” she mumbled. “I almost wish you _had_ killed me. To spare me the humiliation.”

“I must commend you, Commander Varrot,” Isaac said, turning his attention back to the woman. “Against any other opponent, your plan would almost certainly have succeeded. But… you had the misfortune to meet _us_.” He stepped past her. “We should take the prisoners back to Captain Uther.”

So, the two teams led their prisoners across the bridge- one team in front, the second watching the rear. Lindow’s team led the column, accompanied by Isaac. As they marched, Isaac looked down to Quinn, and said, “It seems I owe you an apology, Quinn.”

“Huh? What?” Quinn asked, confused. “Why?”

“I must admit that even with Miss Ingrid’s testimony, I was skeptical of your abilities. But _this_ …” He held up the slip of paper. “…is your vindication. If we had advanced over the bridge as initially planned, then all of us would almost surely be dead.” Isaac brought his hand up to his chin. “I’d like a chance to study your Ring’s powers in greater detail. If there are stimuli that can induce Norn’s effects, I believe it would be a greater help to us.”

“Yeah…” Quinn replied, looking down at Norn. “Right now, the visions just… come and go. I don’t really have any control over them…”

The group fell silent, before Lindow then looked to Isaac. “That was a pretty bold move, Teach. Didn’t think your Ring could reach that far.”

“Hmm?” Isaac asked, confused. “Oh! That. I was bluffing. Bifrost wouldn’t have been able to fully reach across the bay, much less back to Fort Branden.”

Lindow blinked, incredulous. “Wait… you were _bluffing?_ What if they’d called you out?”

Isaac scratched his chin. “Well… I supposed we should thank our lucky stars they didn’t.”

Lindow shook his head in disbelief. “Huh… guess that’s an Archon’s reputation for ya.” He then mumbled something in a low voice. Isaac didn’t hear it… but Quinn did: “…no wonder the Company didn’t take chances with you guys…”

* * *

 “…hey… Hey!”

Quinn jolted awake. He stumbled to his feet in the dark, and fumbled around to find the opening for his tent. When he finally pulled the flap open, he was met by a blonde woman in revealing clothes.

“Evangelyne…?” he asked, confused. “What are you doing here?”

She looked down at him. “I’m tending the field hospital. Where _else_ would I be?”

“The field hospital? But that’s in Fort-” Quinn then remembered. He _was_ in Fort Branden. He, Lindow, and everyone else had marched the Burgundians across the Couteau Bridge back to their camp. He remembered Uther’s stunned expression, and wondered what had surprised him more- that they’d succeeded at all, or that they’d captured so many prisoners. He remembered Uther and Isaac making the decision to march the prisoners all the way back to Fort Branden, where they had the facilities, and the numbers, to hold them securely. He remembered that it was well past dawn when the group finally returned to the fort, and by then, it was nothing short of a miracle he was still standing. The last thing Quinn _did_ remember, was Ingrid taking hold of him, and gently walking with him to the vanguard’s camp.

Quinn shook his head, and said, “Never mind. Did you… _need_ something?”

Evangelyne beamed at him. “I have something for you. Come with me!”

Without waiting for a reply, Evangelyne grabbed his arm and dragged him out of his tent. Quinn protested, “H-Hey, don’t pull so hard!” but his complaints fell on deaf ears as she pulled him through the camp, and into the fort proper. When she finally let him go, Quinn noticed they were in front of the stage he’d seen a few days earlier. But before he could fully get his bearings, Evangelyne held out her arms and proudly proclaimed, “ _Ta-daaa!_ ”

Quinn looked. It was… Evangelyne’s retainers, waiting around the stage. The black-haired woman was sweeping the ground in front of the stage, the pink-haired woman sat on the stage’s edge, and the red-haired woman leaned against the wall all the way at the back of the stage. All three looked to Quinn. “Um…” Quinn began, unsure of how to respond.

“Alright my lovelies, gather ‘round!” As the three retainers gathered, Evangelyne asked, “You know how I can’t leave the field hospital, right? Well, I was talking to Ingrid and Mother Agnes, and we’ve come to an agreement. I’m gonna _loan_ my retainers to you! Aren’t I just so thoughtful?” She smiled, her expression indicating she expected some kind of praise for her actions.

“Uh… th-thanks?” Quinn said, confused. “We… I’m sure we’ll put them to good use.”

Evangelyne laughed as she approached Quinn, and draped an arm over his shoulder. “ _Now I want you to listen, and listen good,_ ” she said, in a low tone that was becoming too familiar. “ _I’m not_ giving _my retainers to you. You’re only_ borrowing _them. So I expect you to bring all three back, alive,_ and _in one piece. If any of them die on your watch, you’ll be answering to_ me _. And don’t think you can do something stupid like trying to seduce them away from me. Understand?_ ”

“ _Umm…_ ” This time, Quinn was too afraid to respond, rather than too confused.

But a savior unexpectedly came when a comforting voice called out: “Master Evangelyne!” Both Quinn and Evangelyne looked, to see Ingrid approaching. When the inquisitor reached them, she said, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but there’s the matter regarding Noel.”

“Huh?” Evangelyne asked, letting Quinn go- he scurried over to the inquisitor’s side. “What matter?”

Ingrid calmly clasped her hands behind her back and stood tall. “Order regulations require that a new Ringbearer be brought to the nearest headquarters for verification.”

“Oh, right, right.” Evangelyne sighed. “Alright then. Bring the girl over.”

Ingrid departed, returning a few minutes later with Noel. As before, the normally cheerful girl’s demeanor changed in the blonde woman’s presence, and Noel flinched when Evangelyne approached. She tapped Noel’s shoulders with her and arm and said hurriedly:

“By-the-power-vested-in-me-by-Mother-Agnes-I-hereby-name-you-an-Archon-of-the-Archonite-Order-and-grant-you-all-the-rights-and-privileges-therein.” She clapped Noel’s shoulder. “Now get out there and win us a war.”

Evangelyne turned, but Ingrid stopped her. “Master Evangelyne,” she began with a stern tone. “Just what was that display supposed to be?”

“What? I’m the Order’s co-founder. I can initiate people as Archons if I want,” Evangelyne said.

Ingrid crossed her arms over her chest, a strange expression on her face.

“I can’t leave the fort, and you know Isaac can’t spare the troops to send Noel up to Corburg. At least this way, she can aid you in an official capacity.” Ingrid remained unmoved.

Evangelyne then crossed her arms too, and narrowed her eyes at the inquisitor. “Not that I _owe_ you an explanation. I can do what I like. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have duties to be returning to.” The blonde woman then wheeled around and walked away.

Ingrid called out, “Wait, Master Evangelyne, you know this isn’t…!” She trailed off, and let out a heavy sigh. “You’d think a founder of the Order would have more respect for the regulations she helped to codify.”

“Uh…” Noel asked, trembling. “What happens to Noel now?”

Ingrid knelt down, to look Noel in the eye. “Well, when this war is over, you’ll have to be trained at the Abbey, like Quinn. But until then, nothing will really change.” She gripped Noel’s shoulders. “You’ll help us, won’t you?”

“Does Noel get to stay with Master?” Noel asked.

“Well, _you_ would be the master, but…” Ingrid nodded. “Yes, you’ll be able to stay with Francis.”

Noel leapt for joy. “Yaaay! Noel has to tell Master!” And she hurried away.

* * *

 The next day, the Hessian and Bannish force began moving away from Fort Branden, establishing camps and moving supplies across the Couteau Bridge. Quinn was among the many aiding in this task, when…

“Quinn! Excuse me, _Quinn!_ ”

Quinn looked back, to see Professor Isaac hurrying towards him. When the professor reached him, he hunched over, breathing heavily. “Hah… apologies, Quinn. But, I’d like to ask you something.”

“Uh, sure,” Quinn replied. “What is it, Professor?”

“I wanted to ask you to stop by my tent when you have some time.”

“Alright…” Quinn looked to the line of soldiers and carts beside him. “I mean, I’m kind of in the middle of moving supplies, but I can stop by when I’m finished.”

Isaac nodded and said, “Excellent, that’s good to hear. I’ll see you then,” before departing.

It would take a few hours before Quinn was finished with his task, and once he was done, the sun was hanging low in the western sky. He was tired, but even so, he sought out the professor’s tent, as promised.

As he approached, Isaac opened his tent and ushered Quinn inside, saying. “Oh, you came! Excellent, excellent. Please, have a seat.” He turned away, and began rummaging through a large sack.

“What’s going on, Professor? Why’d you call me over?”

“Well…” Isaac began. “I was hoping we could resume your studies.”

For a few moments, Quinn could only stare in stunned silence. “You… can’t be serious, Professor.”

Isaac turned to face Quinn, a hefty tome in hand. “Oh, but I am, Quinn.”

“Professor…” Quinn was unsure of how to lighten his words. So, he simply said what he thought, unfiltered: “Professor, we’re at war. I really don’t think now would be the best time for studying.”

Isaac adjusted his glasses. “On the contrary, now could not be a more perfect time.” Then, the professor asked an unexpected question. “Tell me, Quinn- what is a soldier’s greatest weapon?”

“Uh…” Quinn didn’t answer right away. What was a soldier's greatest weapon? An actual weapon seemed too obvious- it had to be something else. Discipline? Willingness to follow orders?

But Isaac answered that question for Quinn: “A soldier’s greatest weapon… is the mind. And just like any weapon, it must be constantly maintained, else it loses its sharpness.” The professor added, “Miss Ingrid mentioned how you missed your studies. And it’s good to take your mind off the battlefield, if only for a while.”

Quinn was quiet. Continuing his studies, now of all times? It wouldn’t exactly do him good to be worrying about sums while out on the battlefield. But at the same time, he would be lying if he said there hadn’t been times when he wanted to go back to the College, to pick up where he’d left off. So, Quinn eventually answered, “If you think it’s what’s best… then I’d to keep going. W-With my studies.”

“Excellent.” Isaac handed Quinn the book. “Now, do you remember where we left off?”

“Uh…” Quinn was silent for a few moments as he tried to recall. “We were… studying the ancient city-states of Doria, right?”

Isaac nodded in approval. “Good, you still remember. Now, as you may recall, our calendar begins with the founding of the Imperium of Mosk, but many Doric city-states were established decades, if not centuries before the reign of Emperor Daein…”

* * *

 The sun had long since set when Quinn emerged from Isaac’s tent. In resuming his role as a teacher, the professor had gotten a bit carried away, and had profusely apologized for keeping him so late. But once Quinn stepped outside the tent, he was greeted by a strange sight: Malcolm, sitting at the ground, looking up at the sky.

Malcolm must have heard Quinn, as he looked back and said, “Hey.”

“Oh, hi Malcolm,” Quinn replied. “Did you… want to talk to the Professor?”

Malcolm shook his head, and turned his gaze skyward again. “Oh, no, it isn’t anything like that. I just came out here to watch the stars.”

Quinn looked up to the sky, dotted by countless stars. He couldn’t help but to be reminded of his old life, in Grimhold, and said out loud, “Back in Grimhold, I never really saw the sky in the day. When I _did_ see it, it was at times like this. At night.”

“Hmm,” Malcolm hummed, and then looked at Quinn. “Say, Quinn…” he began. “What do you see when you look up at the night sky?”

Quinn was taken aback. “Huh?”

“Just look up, and tell me what you see. You don’t have to think too hard about it.”

Quinn looked up at the stars, squinting. “It… just looks like a bunch of dots to me.”

Malcolm laughed. “I don’t blame you for thinking that. You’d be wrong, but, I don’t blame you.”

Quinn looked to his fellow student. “What do you mean, ‘wrong?’”

Malcolm replied with a question of his own: “You know what constellations are, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Quinn replied, nodding. “Professor Isaac said sailors use them to navigate, right?”

“That’s right,” Malcolm replied. “But, there’s more to constellations than simply to find your way.” He looked up at the sky. “Every star tells a story, Quinn. Stories of heroes, and monsters. Of gods, and demons. Tales… from when the world was young.”

Quinn looked up at the sky as well- the stars twinkled silently in the darkness. “What kind of stories?” he asked.

Malcolm climbed to his feet. “I’ll need to check my notes, and see which constellations are out this season. Come back in a few nights, and I’ll tell you all the stories I know.”

It was a strange request, but Quinn felt no need to deny his fellow student- his friend. “Alright. I’ll see you then.”

* * *

 It was dark when Uther awoke. But that was alright- as Captain of the Guard, his day always started earlier than anyone else’s. He normally started by putting on his armor and warming up a few sword drills, but based on the gurgling in his stomach, that would have to wait. Putting on his boots, he stepped out of his tent-

“Good morning, Yer Majesty,” Elizabeth said.

“Ah,” Uther replied, taken aback. “Good… morning, Lady Lecarde.” She was standing right outside his tent, arms clasped behind her back, not even shivering in the cold morning air. “…How long have you been waiting out here?”

“Only a few hours,” she replied matter-of-factly, and continued: “Aye’ve taken the liberty of constructing an agenda for yew and yer vanguard to follow today.” She held out a sheet of documents to the captain.

Uther looked down at the documents. “I… see. I’ll need to take the time to review it.” He began walking away from his tent.

Elizabeth quickly caught up with the captain, walking in step with him. “Aye have also taken the liberty of inspecting yer equipment. Aye’ve replaced a few worn straps on yer armor, sharpened yer weapons, and reshoed yer mount.”

“Miss Lecarde, that was-” Uther began.

But Elizabeth continued: “Aye’ve also inspected our food stocks, and found a number of deficiencies. Aye’ve already sent a notice to our supply line requesting they correct this.”

“Miss Lecarde…”

“Aye’ve also noticed yer accommodations are somewhat lacking as well. Aye spoken to the quartermaster to see if more appropriate accoutrements can-”

“ _Miss Lecarde!_ ”

“M-Majesty?” Elizabeth stammered, clearly taken aback. “Is there something not to yer satisfaction?”

Uther shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, I should commend you for your hard work.” He took a breath. “…but perhaps it would be best to finish your report _after_ I’ve finished my business here.”

“ _Business?_ What manner of business would yew-” she began to say, looking around. She quickly realized where Uther had been headed- the camp latrine. “Ah. Of course.” She quickly turned away, hiding her face- it was the first time that Uther had seen Elizabeth so flustered.

Uther turned away. “Miss Lecarde, there’s something I’d like to say,” he said aloud.

“Yes, yer Majesty?” She remained facing away from him, not even turning her head slightly to better hear him.

“I would prefer that you not call me ‘your Majesty’ while on campaign. ‘Captain’ will suffice.”

Elizabeth nodded. “As yew wish, Majesty.”

Uther sighed, but said no more.

* * *

 “Julius? Julius!” Gwin called. But there was no answer. It was time to move on, but the army couldn't go anywhere until all soldiers were present and accounted for. And although it was unlike Julius to be late for anything, the priest was missing. Gwin was the first to volunteer to search for him, so here he was, searching the countryside around the camp. But, Gwin liked to think he knew Julius, and had an inkling of where the priest may have been.

And sure enough, as he climbed a particularly tall hill, he heard a familiar voice. When he reached the top, he was met by a familiar sight- a priest, clad in blue, with his back turned. “Temperature is a mild 72 degrees. Light breeze from the north.” As he spoke, Julius wrote in his notebook. He then turned his gaze to the horizon. “Hum… the cloudfront to the east could prove problematic if the winds shift…”

“Hey Julius,” Gwin called. “We’re getting ready to head out. We should head back to camp.”

Julius stopped writing and looked back. “Oh. Is it that time already?”

Gwin approached. “What’re you doing out here all alone?”

“I was attempting to make a weather forecast for the next week,” he replied, and put away his notebook. “But I suppose that can wait for now. Let us return to camp.” He walked past Gwin, and down the hill.

Gwin hurried to catch up to his comrade. “Oh yeah, you’ve always been trying to predict the weather, haven’t you?” Gwin asked. “Why is that?”

“It is important to understand how different weather conditions affect an army, both on the move, and on the battlefield. By predicting the weather, we can modify our strategies to overcome adverse conditions.” Julius glanced toward the knight. “As I recall, your field manual has a rather extensive section on that very topic.”

Gwin laughed nervously and scratched his head. “Ahahah… I must’ve missed that part,” he replied sheepishly. “Well anyway, keep up the good work, I suppose.”

“Indeed. Although I already serve as a medic, I will do my utmost to provide aid in any way I can.”

“That’s fine. Just… remember you have people all around you to back you up.”

Julius gave a small nod. “I shall endeavor to do so.”

* * *

 Most of the army was asleep at this late hour. But for Lindow, the night was a time for work, and in any case, sleep would not bring the thief any rest. He sat before a small, dimly burning fire, sharpening one of his knives against a whetstone. But as he worked, he couldn’t help but feel that there was a presence lingering nearby. With a sigh, the thief set down his knife and said aloud, “If you have something to say to me, then come out and say it.”

A figure stepped into the light, but not one the thief had expected. “Uh, hey, Lindow,” Quinn said, nervously.

“Hey,” Lindow replied. “…did you need something, kid?”

A moment passed before Quinn answered. “I wanted to ask you something,” he replied, hesitantly. “You… _know_ people, right? Like, people who… _know_ things, and sell what they know?”

Lindow picked up his knife, and continued sharpening it. “That’s a dirty stereotype. But, one that happens to be true in my case; I’ve got contacts all over. Why do you ask?”

Quinn again hesitated. “I was wondering… if you could find some information for me.”

Lindow looked up. “I gathered as much. Though, I get a feeling this isn’t for… official business. So what’re ya lookin’ for?”

“It’s not anything bad!” Quinn looked down slightly. “I just… want to know… where my parents came from.”

Lindow raised an eyebrow at Quinn. “Kind of a strange request. Can’t you just ask them yourself?”

Quinn looked down, sadly. “My parents… both died when I was young.”

“Oh…” Lindow looked away, scratching his head. “Y-Yeah, I can see how that would be a problem.” He looked back to the young man. “Well, I can help you out. But you’ll have to help me, too: You want info, then I need info in return.”

“About my parents?” Quinn asked. “What do you need to know?”

“Anything you can tell me about them.”

“All I know is what the people in my hometown told me.” Quinn touched his chin as he thought. “They said my parents and I came to Grimhold on a merchant ship. And that not long after we arrived, the whole island was hit by something called ‘the sweating sickness.’ A lot of people died from it. Including my parents. I was about three or four when my mother died- it’s… the first thing I can really remember.”

Quinn looked to Lindow. “I didn’t really think about it when I was younger, but now… I’m curious. From what everyone said, it made me wonder… if I have any family anywhere else. I was raised in Grimhold, but I’m pretty sure that I wasn’t born there. So… do you think you can help me?”

Lindow scratched his chin, pondering what Quinn had told him. “Huh…” Admittedly, it wasn’t much… though the mention of the sweating sickness sounded promising. “I’ll get in touch with my people and pass on what you told me. We’ll see what they can dig up.”

“Thanks Lindow.” The young man turned and left.

Lindow hung his head slightly and mumbled, mostly to himself, “Can’t make you any promises, though, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isaac: The first Archon created after the revision. For a long while, though Isaac had a defined role in the story as Quinn’s teacher, I didn’t have much of an idea as to what he looked like- only that he wore glasses, as Julius wore glasses to emulate him. It wasn’t until late that he would gain an appearance, inspired by Cyrus from Octopath Traveler, though with much shorter hair. After naming Isaac, I noticed the accidental trend of the Archons before Quinn all having names that started with vowels, and deliberately chose to keep it going. In terms of archetypes, he would be a straight Wendell. If he had a voice actor, it would ideally be Alistair Duncan.
> 
> Isaac’s Ring of power, Bifrost, was named for the rainbow bridge connecting Asgard and Midgard from Norse mythology. I created it because I realized a lot of the Rings I’d made at the time were mainly offense-oriented, and wanted to make a break from that.
> 
> Malcolm- Created to replace the unnamed Raven expy from the original concept, Malcolm, unlike his teacher, always had a somewhat well-defined appearance, inspired by Robin from Awakening. A lot of the characters who appear have some major trauma in their backstory, but for Malcolm, I wanted to move away from that, and have him be a largely normal individual, albeit one with a penchant for storytelling. Archetype-wise, the closest would be the Arlen, but even that is a very loose fit. For a little while, his name was “Marcus,” because I thought up the name Malcolm, but didn’t write it down and subsequently forgot it. Would ideally be voiced by David Vincent.


	13. Chapter X: Snow in Summer

**Chapter X: Snow In Summer**

**Lithe 25, 706**

It took roughly three days for the army at Fort Branden to cross the Couteau Bridge. Sturdy as it was, there was only so much space for all the men and their supplies to cross. Quinn helped transport goods where he could, but on this particular day, he had something else in mind that he needed to do. He searched through the many smaller camps surrounding the main camp on the south side of the bridge, until he finally found what- or rather, _who_ he was looking for.

There, he found her- a woman in white, with red hair and a small mask that covered her eyes: one of the retainers that Evangelyne had “loaned” to him. She was tending to a pegasus, whispering words to it as she inspected the feathers on its wings. And to his surprise, she wasn’t alone- another of Evangelyne’s retainers, the dancer, was with her, closely inspecting a short sword. When he approached, the pegasus snorted and backed away from him slightly, which in turn drew the women’s attention.

“H-Hi there,” Quinn began, approaching the woman in white slowly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself the other day. I’m Quinn. What’s your name?”

The woman in white simply looked at him in silence, unmoving, her mask making her expression unreadable. The dancer didn’t even look up, simply continuing to examine her blade.

Quinn stopped in front of the woman, trying his best to hide his discomfort from her lack of response. “Um… I just thought that, if we’re going to be working together, it… would be a good idea to get to know each other better. ” He held out his hand toward her.

The red-haired woman finally reacted to his words, and looked down at Quinn’s hand. But to his surprise, she pushed it aside. “I have no interest in exchanging pleasantries,” she said firmly. “I’m here because my master has ordered me to assist you. I will carry our my duty, and when we are finished, I will return to my master’s side.” She turned her back to him, grabbing her pegasus’s reins. “Let me make something perfectly clear to you: We are comrades. We are _not_ friends.” And with that, the red-haired woman walked away, the pegasus following her lead.

Quinn then looked to the dancer. But before he could say anything, she stood up, sheathing her sword. “Sorry,” she began, “but when you’ve been in this line of work as long as I have, you learn not to get attached to anyone.” And just like the woman in white, the dancer walked away.

Quinn could only stare at the now empty space. Had… he done something wrong? He couldn’t recall saying anything that the women would have taken offense to: in that conversation, or any other. Then… was it because Evangelyne was so friendly with him? He didn’t know why that was, but it wasn’t exactly something he had any control over. He looked down at his still extended hand. “She didn’t even tell me her name…”

“Don’t take that too personally,” a gentle voice said. Quinn turned around- it was a third woman, wearing a black bodysuit and veil, her black hair tied into two short braids. The last of Evangelyne’s retainers. “Rune and Prim are like that with everyone.”

Quinn furrowed his brow. “… _Rune?_ Is _that_ her name?”

“That’s what she calls herself, at least.” As she spoke, the woman removed her veil, and untied her hair, letting it hang freely around her shoulders. “There we go.” She looked back to Quinn. “I’m Zara, by the way.”

Quinn his hand again, albeit cautiously. “I’m Quinn.”

Quinn braced himself… but Zara shook his hand without hesitation, smiling gently. “I remember you from the Abbey. Evangelyne introduced us to you, but I’ve been wanting to introduce myself properly.”

“Oh! Um, thank you.” Quinn couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief from the kindness the Zara had shown him so far. And her comment reminded him of something, a question he hadn’t had the chance to ask Evangelyne: “Evangelyne said she was loaning you to us, but… what can you three do, exactly?”

“Right, she didn’t mention that.” Zara rested her hand on her chest. “Well, I’m a dark mage. Rune’s a pegasus knight, and Prim’s a dancer. But you probably already knew that last part.”

“Wait, _you’re_ a dark mage?” Quinn asked, incredulous. “But you seem so… _nice_ .” Quinn hadn’t known anyone who studied dark magics at the College, but the rumors he’d heard about them painted a rather distinct image- ill-tempered, unwashed with bad skin, constantly mumbling curses at anyone _and_ everyone. But Zara… didn’t fit that image at all. The only thing dark about her seemed to be her choice of clothing.

Zara smiled, winding a lock of hair around her finger. “Everyone always seems so surprised to hear that,” she replied.

But, before the conversation could continue, Ingrid entered the camp, and approached the two. “Here you are, Quinn. I’ve been looking for you.”

“What’s going on, Miss Ingrid?” he asked.

“The last of the supplies have crossed the bridge. Captain Uther is holding a meeting at the main camp to discuss the army’s formation as we move further into Burgundy. He expects everyone to be in attendance.”

“Okay.” Quinn nodded, and looked to Zara. “Do you want to come with us? I’d like to talk a bit more.”

Zara put her veil back on. “Certainly. I must admit, I’m intrigued by all the stories Ingrid has told Master Evangelyne about you.”

Quinn blinked. He had to admit, Ingrid never struck him as the gossiping type. But before he could reply, the inquisitor conspicuously cleared her throat and said, “Perhaps it would be best if Quinn and I went ahead on our own while you gather your companions. After all, the Captain said he expects _everyone_ to be in attendance.”

But Zara simply waved off Ingrid’s words. “I’ll fill in Rune and Prim later. You of all people should know they’re not exactly fans of big meetings.” She looked down to Quinn. “And again, I’m really sorry about how they treated you. They’re good people. Really.”

The next day, the army pressed on, leaving behind a detachment to hold the bridge and keep the supply lines open. They moved at a reasonable speed, but the Pellinore Plains at the heart of Burgundy were vast, and it would take time before they reached the capital, Agravain. Oddly, they encountered no further resistance- this came as a relief to Quinn and other members of the vanguard with less military experience, but Uther and the rest were noticeably on edge. It seemed they anticipated something the others did not.

And a week later, their apprehensions were justified. When Quinn was roused by the morning bells and exited his tent, he noticed first the biting cold- rather unexpected, as Julius had predicted clear skies and rising temperatures during the march to Agravain. Then he noticed something… out of place. The ground and the tents were covered with something… white. In disbelief, he bent down, and stuck his hand into it. Surely, it was just his imagination. After all, summer was literally just days away. But there was absolutely no mistaking the freezing sensation in his fingers.

Snow.

“Master, look!” Quinn looked- Noel stood outside another tent nearby, and wasted no time in shifting into a wolf and diving into the snow, rolling around and barking happily. But while she obviously played, the others who emerged from their own tents could only look on at the vast expanse of white blanketing the plains surrounding their camp.

Quinn looked up, and sure enough, a few small flakes of snow fell from the sky. “Snow?” he asked. “Here? Now?” He never thought much of snow- growing up in Grimhold, he worked the mines regardless of the season- but at that moment, Quinn couldn’t help but feel that this was the beginning of something much more serious than what he’d experienced before.

Another three days passed. The army’s once steady pace was now slowed to a crawl. The soldiers had been equipped for a summer campaign, and they struggled to handle the rapidly falling temperature. At the end of the third day, the lower-ranked officer demanded that Uther and Isaac hold an emergency meeting, to decide whether to press on, or fall back to the bridge. The vote was a narrow one, but in the end, it was decided that the army would continue its advance into Burgundy.

In this time, Quinn approached Ingrid several times, asking for her thoughts on their situation. But every time, she refused to answer, or to even acknowledge his presence. She simply sat, or stood with a strange expression, biting her thumbnail. Seeing Ingrid troubled, troubled Quinn in turn, and he recalled her wariness in going to war with Burgundy. But, both the Professor and the Captain had yet to steer him wrong, and with Ingrid seemingly unwilling to open up to him, he deferred to the two mens’ judgement, and let the inquisitor be.

* * *

  **Enderi 3, 706**

It was now the fourth day since the strange snow had begun to fall. Visibility was poor, and it seemed the snowfall worsened the further south they travelled. But on this day, scouts returned to the camp with unusual reports. On the road ahead, they sighted what they could only describe as a palace of ice. The temperature fell rapidly as they approached, leading them to conclude that the palace was the source of the snow and ice. Uther, intrigued by the report, quickly had the army mobilize to investigate.

It took several hours of hard marching through the snow before they sighted it. But sure enough, several _milla_ down the road, a structure rose up from the ground. It wasn’t large, but it towered over the surrounding plains, its pure white walls gleaming in the dull grey fog. But Quinn saw something much more alarming gathered around the base of the palace- tents and pavilions, with countless dark shapes moving among them.

“An army…” he said.

“Hghhh… the scout’s didn’t mention that,” Zara said, shivering. She and her companions were certainly not dressed for the weather. Granted, everyone was suffering, but Evangelyne’s retainers suffered the worst of it, though the woman in white, _Rune_ , did her best to hide it.

“Guess that explains why we haven’t run into anymore soldiers…” Gwin said. But then, he tensed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Someone’s coming.”

From the road leading to the ice palace, three men approached: A young man, flanked by two soldiers. The young man had neat, slightly long blonde hair and green eyes, and from his face, seemed to be only a few years older than Quinn. His armor gleamed in the dull light, and though he had no weapon, he walked with confidence. The men at his sides carried long spears, and did not wear the normal tunics of the Burgundians they’d encountered so far, but rather heavy coats colored a deep red. The man and his bodyguards came to a stop roughly ten _peds_ away.

“Soldiers of Bannon,” the young man declared. “I am Merdraut of House Roger, first prince of Burgundy. You will lay down your weapons, and surrender yourself to judgment for crimes committed against my country, and my people.”

Uther rode out to meet the young prince, and dismounted. “Prince Merdraut,” he said. “I am Uther Maybury, prince of Bannon. It is true that crimes have been committed. But, it is Bannon and her people who have been wronged.”

The soldiers flanking Merdraut stepped forward, readying their weapons, but stopped when the prince held out his hand. “What ‘wrong’ do you speak of?” he asked.

Uther looked to the ground, and replied in a low voice, “My brother, His Majesty King Oswald IV… was murdered by assassins.”

Prince Merdraut stepped forward, his stoic expression faltering. “What? Oswald is… _dead?_ ”

Uther nodded. “Yes. Furthermore, mere hours after his death, we received reports from Hessen that a Burgundian force was massing on their southern border. No crime has been committed- we simply acted in defense of our ally.” Uther then shook his head. “Oswald was assassinated over a month ago- word was sent to your father, King Martel, through your nation’s emissaries. Surely, this isn’t the first you’ve heard of this news?”

Merdraut lowered his gaze, troubled. “…It is,” he answered in a low voice. “It is not news that I would have wanted to receive in _any_ circumstance, much less these. Oswald was a good man, and a good king. Had you approached us with this news directly, then my father and I would have provided whatever aid you needed in bringing his killer to justice.”

Merdraut then looked up, with a cold expression. “But that is not what happened here. Regardless of your reasons, you and your forces have unlawfully entered and occupied our nation, and caused immeasurable harm to our citizens. You will order your armies to withdraw, lay down your weapons, and submit yourself to be judged under Burgundian law.”

“Your Highness,” Isaac said. “My name is Isaac, commander of the Hessian forces and Archon of the Archonite Order. I won’t deny that our actions may seem rash, but myself and others can confirm that Burgundian soldiers entered Hessian territory to antagonize our troops. If both nations are at fault, then perhaps it would be best to come to terms, before more blood is shed. My Order would be willing to act as intermediaries between-”

But Merdraut cut Isaac off: “Your presence here, _Commander_ , places your Order’s stance of neutrality into question. And in any case, negotiations are unnecessary. We have named our terms.”

Uther turned and mounted his horse once again, the agitation clearly visible on his face. “If you Browns see it as a crime to defend one’s ally, then it’s no small wonder you have none of your own,” he snapped. The captain then spurred his horse, riding around the prince and his guard.  “We will have words with your liege. I commend your courage, Prince Merdraut. But one should never be so eager to take up arms.”

But all of a sudden, a great wall of ice, ten _peds_ high, shot up from the ground just before Uther. His horse whinnied and reared back in surprise, but Uther quickly regained control. Behind him, Merdraut stood, his fist raised, his hand covered in a thin frost. “You will go no further,” he said, icily.

“ _Majesty!_ ” “Captain!” Elizabeth, Fiona, and Gwin shouted all at once.

But Uther was quiet, looking up at the wall. “…You have a brother, don’t you, Prince Merdraut?” he finally asked. “A younger brother, if I’m not mistaken. What would you do, if one day, he was taken from you?”

Merdraut’s expression hardened, and he reached for his belt, as if to draw a sword, though no sword hung there. “I would do what was necessary to ensure the stability of my realm, rather than chase ghosts in a blind thirst for vengeance.”

Elizabeth rode up, lance ready. “Stay yer hand, whelp!”

The soldiers readied their lances, and Merdraut fixed Elizabeth with a cold look. “ _You will_ **_not_ ** _raise your weapon against me._ ”

Uther finally looked to Merdraut. “If it brings justice to the man who killed my brother…” He pointed his lance at the prince’s chest. “…then I would readily raise my lance against the gods themselves.”

Merdraut’s stoic expression finally broke, and his face contorted with anger. “You claim to seek justice for your king,” he began, “But what of _my_ people? The people you’ve slaughtered, and their loved ones that you’ve left behind! _Where_ is **_their_** justice!?” As he shouted, something began to happen to Merdraut. Ice began to coalesce over his armor, forming itself into a second suit of armor of a pure, almost blinding white. Ice began to gather in his hands as well, forming into a long white sword. Quinn couldn’t help but to be momentarily captivated by the blade- its edges and symmetry were beyond the skill of any human smith to replicate.

The prince turned his sword, and pointed it at Uther. “It seems that Oswald gave us false hopes. You Bannishmen are the same savages you’ve always been. Gods have mercy on you, for we will spare you none.” Then, Merdraut stabbed his blade into the ground at his feet.

There was an explosive flurry of snow and ice, and those gathered shielded themselves from the sudden gale. But when they looked up, Merdraut and his guards were gone. The clouds above thickened, and snow began to fall faster and heavier than before. Up ahead, great walls of ice began to rise up from the ground alongside the palace, quickly stretching east and west as far as the eye could see, ensuring any route around was blocked. A low, brassy sound echoed across the plains, and the mass of soldiers before the palace began to assemble into rows and columns.

“It seems diplomacy has failed,” Uther said, before turning to Fiona. “Lieutenant, send out the call to arms.”

Fiona saluted with a “Understood, Captain,” before pulling out a small horn, and blowing into it. The air was filled with a second loud, brassy note, and the column of soldiers behind them began to spread out into their battle formation.

Uther looked out, past the army to the ice palace. “This cold…” he began. “Is it Fimbulvinter?”

Isaac nodded as he looked out over the landscape ahead. “Most likely. As a Great Power, it was only a matter of time before Burgundy brought their Ring to bear against us.”

_Fimbulvinter?_ Quinn thought. _A Great Power?_ But then, he recalled one of his many lessons under the Professor’s tutelage: the Great Powers were nations whose royal families possessed a Ring of Power. Bannon was one such Great Power, founded through the use of Balor. But Bannon was far from the only one. And this cold, the wall and armor of ice the prince made… it must have been the power of Burgundy’s Ring.

Isaac then looked to Uther. “Captain, I ask that you go on ahead to the citadel. I will remain here to coordinate our forces.”

All eyes turned to the professor. “What?” Quinn asked. “But Professor-”

But Isaac interrupted: “As long as Fimbulvinter’s powers are in use, our defeat is inevitable. We need to neutralize Prince Merdraut as soon as possible, and right now, your vanguard are the best men for the job.”

“But what about-” Quinn tried to say.

Isaac didn’t let Quinn finish- he traced a circle in the air with Bifrost, and opened a portal. Almost immediately, the professor began breathing heavily, a heavy sweat forming on his brow. “This portal should put you behind their wall. Get all of your men through, _now_. I don’t know how long I can keep this open.”

Uther turned to the portal, glancing over at the professor. “You have our thanks, Commander. I leave command of this battle to you. Everyone, let’s move.” He entered the portal. Gwin, Fiona, Julius, and the rest of the vanguard followed. Quinn shook himself, and did the same.

The other side of the portal didn’t look that different from where they started at first. But Quinn soon noticed the towering walls of ice behind him, and the absence of any soldiers, enemy or otherwise.

“Looks like Teach was right,” Lindow said, looking around. “If nothing else, at least we have an escape route if things go sideways.”

Fiona looked up at the walls warily. “Should we be this close to their position?”

“The scouts’ reports said the fortress was occupied, but that their walls were unmanned,” Uther replied. “In other words… the Browns are confident we won’t break through.”

“With all due respect, Captain, they might not be wrong,” Fiona said. “We’re not exactly equipped for a siege in these conditions.”

“Well, we just have to get inside, right? All we’ve gotta do is just get up and over!” Gail looked up… and up, and up at the wall before them. The ice palace wasn’t large, but the walls were easily eighty _peds_ high at minimum. Her confident look quickly faded. “Uh… I don’t think I can jump this.”

Lindow approached the wall, stepping past Gail. “Don’t stress too much, Blondie,” he said, drawing two dagger, holding on in each hand. “This wouldn’t even be the tallest wall I’ve ever climbed.” He pulled back his arm, and stabbed the blade into the ice with all his might… or, so he tried. His blade bounced off the ice, and he stumbled back. He looked down at his dagger, the blade now noticeably bent to the left. He tossed it aside, and gave the wall a few, probing stabs with his second dagger. The ice remained unaffected.

The thief huffed. “Damn. I can’t even scratch it.” He turned to the others, his gaze sweeping over everyone. “Well, if we can’t go over… we’ll just have to smash right through.” Lindow finally focused on someone: Raquel. Soon, all members of the vanguard were looking at her.

“…What?” the witch asked. “Why are you all looking at me?” She then looked at the wall, and huffed. “Alright, fine. Fine. _I’ll_ handle this.” She approached the wall, muttering “ _Looks like I have to do_ **_everything_ ** _around here…_ ” before saying aloud, “Alright, stand aside.”

Raquel held out her hands in front of her. A ball of flame appeared in the air just in front of her palms, quickly growing in both size and brightness. The fireball struck the wall with an explosion, and…

Nothing. The wall was unaffected, without even a scorch mark to show where the fireball had hit. “W-What?” Raquel stammered, and began concentrating again. Another fireball formed, faster and larger than the last, and crashed against the wall, with the same result. “N… No way,” she said. “These flames should be hot enough to melt steel! So why is this stupid ice still here!?” She put up her hands for a third time.

But then, for the first time, Ingrid finally spoke: “That won’t work.”

All eyes turned to the inquisitor. For a moment, Quinn was stunned to finally hear her speak, but quickly collected himself enough to ask, “What do you mean, Miss Ingrid?”

“Normal magics cannot overcome a Ring of Power’s abilities,” the inquisitor replied sternly. “Only another Ring of Power can do that.”

Raquel scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Could’ve told us sooner…”

“Another Ring…” Uther mused, before looking to Elizabeth. “Miss Lecarde, I ask that you use Balor to open a path for us.”

Elizabeth saluted. “As yew command, Yer Majesty,” she replied “But Aye must confess: Aye kin only use Balor’s power twice a day. Aye fear that is all the strain mae eyes can bear.”

Lindow said, smirking, “I guess our fair Lady better make that last shot count, then.”

Elizabeth gave the thief a disgusted look, but held her tongue when Uther turned to face the others. “Scouts weren’t able to determine the status of the interior. Regardless, we will proceed with standard breaching formation. Fiona, Gwin, and I will take the lead. Miss Lecarde, … _you-_ ” He looked to Rune as he said this. “…will provide support from the air. Everyone else, fan out and engage the enemy at your discretion. Julius, son-” he looked to Gideon. “…you’ll take up the rear. Now, if you would, Miss Lecarde.”

Elizabeth nodded, stepping toward the wall, and closing her eyes. The ring on her finger began to shine with a brilliant red light. Then, her eyes flew open with a loud _crack_ , like a bolt of lightning, and two beams of red light shot forth from her eyes. They zigzagged through the air, bending at impossible angles before finally striking the wall.

The result was not at all what Quinn expected. The entire wall facing them shattered into countless shards, as though it were made of glass, exposing the interior of the ice palace. It was almost completely barren, lacking any facilities, save for a flight of frozen steps leading up to a platform from which one could view the battlefield. But despite the lack of accommodations, the palace was far from unoccupied- Quinn counted at least a dozen men within. A few staggered, clearly caught off guard by the sudden breach in their defenses.

“Everyone, advance!” Uther shouted, before spurring his horse and charging into the palace. The rest of the vanguard followed. Quinn stumbled as he ran, drawing his axe, looking for an enemy. But then, something struck him from the left, hard. It was more like a punch than a blade or arrow, but it still almost knocked him off his feet. And, it _hurt_. He looked over to the source.

A Burgundian soldier stood not far from him, tome in hand. A mage. The mage didn’t wait- he thrust out his hand, sending a shining green arc of solid wind racing towards Quinn. But this time, Quinn was ready. He evaded the spell, and sprinted toward the mage. Mages could deal a lot of damage, but were usually frail- if he could close the distance, bringing that mage down would be easy. The mage tossed another arc of wind, but Quinn held out his axe to shield himself. The arc struck him, and he slid back a few steps, but that was all.

And now, Quinn was finally in range. The mage began hurriedly casting another spell. But he would never finish, not at this distance. Quinn sprinted, drawing his axe back, and swung with all his might from the side. His axe hit its mark, burying itself deep in the mage’s side. The mage cried out- Qunn withdrew his axe and struck again, silencing him.

Quinn looked around for any more enemies trying to catch him off-guard. There were none, but he did spot Fiona, circling a soldier, her horse held at bay by his spear. His back was turned to Quinn, so he ran. With a cry, he raised his axe and swung it downward. But the soldier turned- he held out his spear, and twisted it in his hands, deflecting Quinn’s blow and sending him tumbling to the side. But his attack gave Fiona the opening she needed. She charged, and ran the soldier through with her own spear. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief- in his position, the soldier could have seriously wounded him. “Thanks for that,” he said.

But an unexpected sound came to Quinn- a cry of pain. From Uther. He looked, just in time to see Uther tumbling down the stairs of the platform, finally coming to a rest at the bottom. Without a moment’s hesitation, Julius broke away from his position as Uther struggled to rise. The priest held out his staff, bathing the captain in a golden light. “Are you alright, Captain?” he asked. “It is rare for an enemy to unhorse you.”

Quinn looked up the steps, his gaze quickly reaching the top, and the man standing there, looking down at them: Merdraut. Instantly, he gripped his axe and raced up the steps. “Quinn, _wait!_ ” Uther shouted. But Quinn was too blinded by his anger to hear him. In moments, he reached the platform, raised his axe high over his head, and swung it down at Merdraut with all the strength he could muster. “ _Hhrraaaah!_ ”

Merdraut raised his sword and blocked Quinn’s attack with a calm expression. Quinn pressed down, but the prince’s guard held. “Hmm… you wear a Ring, I see,” he said, glancing at Quinn’s hand. “So the rumors of a new Archon in the Order were true.” Merdraut suddenly pushed, and Quinn stumbled back. As Quinn regained his balance, the prince pointed his sword of ice at him. “You may have run roughshod over Burgundy’s army with your Ring’s power until now, but you will not find _me_ such easy prey.”

Merdraut crouched. There was a flash, and Quinn saw the prince rush forward, and swing at his right side. The world moved forward, and the prince charged. Quinn was able to bring up his axe and deflect the blow… but only just. And Norn’s vision didn’t show him what happened next- Merdraut drew back his sword for a thrust aimed at his abdomen. Quinn tried to leap to the side, but all of a sudden found limbs heavy and sluggish, and he was unable to move fast enough. A hot pain stabbed at his left side, and he fell to one knee.

Quinn gripped his side, breathing hard, pain pulsing through his body. It took every ounce of his strength to move his limbs the way he wanted, and stand back on his feet. He had to end this, quickly. Gathering up all the energy he could, Quinn charged, with a powerful overhead swing. But, an enormous icicle sprouted beneath Merdraut’s feet, launching him back over a dozen _peds_ , far out of Quinn’s range.

Quinn chased after him. Another flash- Merdraut thrust his sword. Quinn tried to deflect the blow with a swing from below. But he was too slow- Merdraut’s stab hit its mark, and pain seared through Quinn’s bicep. Quinn staggered back. He tried, but simply could no longer hold himself up, and fell to his knees. He was shocked by his own actions- even with his wounds, he shouldn’t have been so exhausted already. The cold… it had to be sapping his strength somehow. And Norn’s visions wouldn’t help him if he couldn’t move to protect himself. Quinn’s blood ran cold, as he realized now that he was alone, at the enemy’s mercy.

Merdraut walked up slowly. “I have spent years mastering Fimbulvinter’s powers,” he said. His voice was calm, as though he hadn’t exerted himself at all in their battle. “Dedicated myself to studying its every nuance, every potential application. The outcome of this battle was decided long before either one of us set foot here. There could be no other end.” With a calm expression, Merdraut raised his sword.

…but his gaze darted past Quinn, a layer of ice instantly hardening around his head to form a helmet. And not a moment too soon- an arrow struck where his cheek would have been, breaking in two. “A feeble-” But before he could say anything else, he was struck with a massive fireball. The explosion blinded Quinn, but he felt something grab him and lift him up. He struggled as he was laid against something, but a hand grabbed his wrist and a cold voice said, “ _Stop that._ ”

There was a rush of cold air as Quinn’s vision finally returned. He realized he was the back of a horse- or rather, a _pegasus_ in flight, seated behind… Rune.

“Wha- _you!?_ ” he stammered. “You just-”

She turned her gaze forward. “I’m merely upholding my duty. Nothing more.” Rune tugged on the reins, and her pegasus dived to the ground, landing at the base of the step. Climbing down was difficult for Quinn- whether it was because of the pain, or the cold dulling his senses, he couldn’t say. But at the very least, he was safe- the rest of the vanguard was there, guarding the steps, forming a barrier between him and Merdraut.

“You owe me one,” Raquel said harshly.

Gideon rode up and held out his staff. “Here, this should help.” The staff glowed, and Quinn was bathed in a golden light. The pain in his side faded, and his limbs became lighter… at least for the moment. “Are you okay?” the young man asked.

Quinn nodded.  “I… think so.”

“You’re lucky it’s so cold. It constricts your blood vessels- with a wound like that, you could’ve easily bled to death.”

“We’ve mopped up the rest of the soldiers,” Uther said. “Prince Merdraut is the last man standing.”

Francis’s back was turned to the group, his gaze turned to the top of the hill, bow drawn back. “He’s not following us,” he said. Indeed, Merdraut simply stood at the top the steps, sword planted in the ground by his feet, looking down at them silently.

“Smug dastard probably thinks there’s no need,” Juno said harshly.

“He’s strong,” Quinn admitted. “A lot stronger than I thought he’d be. We need a plan to bring him down.”

Lindow clapped his shoulder. “We all jump him- there’s your plan. Skill can’t beat quantity once the number’s high enough.”

“No,” Ingrid said, shaking her head. “We need to be intelligent about this. And at any rate, with that armor protecting him, it’s unlikely that anyone but a Ringbearer could harm him.”

_Ringbearers_ , Quinn thought. So, just him, Elizabeth, and Noel. Quinn thought, and an idea came to him. “I think I have a plan,” he said, and looked to his fellow Ringbearers. “Noel, Elizabeth, I’ll need your help with this.”

He shared his plan with the rest of the vanguard. Noel agreed immediately. Elizabeth was hesitant, but when Uther gave the plan his approval, she assented immediately as well. Ingrid seemed unconvinced; Lindow stepped up, telling the inquisitor that the two of them could step in and bring down Merdraut if the plan began to fall apart.

With everyone in agreement, the vanguard prepared to take their positions… when someone called out, “Wait.” The dancer stepped forward- Prim, if Quinn was remembering her name correctly. “I know you’ve already laid out your plan, but I can do this much for you, at least.” She twirled, and leapt, in a graceful dance. Quinn was… enraptured- he’d seen her skill from a distance, but to see it up close… When it was over, Quinn felt strangely _invigorated_. It felt as though his muscles would burst. Was it some kind of magic, cast through a dance rather than a tome? But he then shook his head- now wasn’t the time. They had an enemy to face.

“Thank you,” Quinn said, before he turned, and climbed the steps, alone. The others went their separate ways, to take their positions for the next fight.

Merdraut was waiting for Quinn in the middle of the platform. “You return,” he said. “I will offer you one more chance to lay down your weapon and surrender. If you do, I will grant you mercy. You cannot hope to defeat me, and I would rather that no further blood be spilled today.” His tone was calm and measured, as it had been when he’d first demanded the vanguard’s surrender.

Quinn readied his axe. “I can’t do that,” he replied.

Merdraut’s gaze hardened. “Then you have chosen death.” He readied his sword…

But what Quinn said next made Merdraut pause: “I was there, you know. When Oswald was killed. He died right in front of me. The last thing he ever said… was asking if his brother was hurt.” Quinn looked at his Ring. “I had a vision of it. I thought I’d _saved_ him. But… I was wrong. I might not have killed Oswald, but in my own way, I’m responsible for his death.” He turned his gaze back to Merdraut. “Somewhere out there, someone knows the truth. Someone knows why Oswald was killed. I owe it to him to find that person and bring them to justice. I owe it to Oswald, to Captain Uther, and… I owe it to myself.”

Merdraut was quiet, seemingly unmoved. “I am certain there _is_ someone who knows why Oswald was killed. And I can assure you that neither I, nor my father, are responsible,” he replied, his tone harsh. “But it is clear that you will not accept our pleas of innocence. Whatever the truth may be about the circumstances of Oswald’s death… _you_ will not not find it.” Merdraut raised his sword, and pointed it at Quinn. “ _You_ will die here. On your own, with your meager skills, you could never hope to best me.”

Quinn couldn’t help but allow a smile to creep over his face. “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t plan on fighting you alone, then.” He then raised his axe up over his head.

A sharp crack reverberated behind Quinn, and the air became incredibly hot, as two beams of red light arced sharply around Quinn and raced toward Merdraut.

“What-” But before he could respond, the beams struck the prince, shattering his armor of ice and sending him reeling. He held up his fist, gritting his teeth, but the icy armor that covered him would not reform. “What, Fimbulvinter isn’t working!”

Now that Elizabeth had acted, it was Noel’s cue. Heavy footfalls and the sound of claws scraping against ice filled the air as a massive black beast bounded up the side of the platform. Merdraut heard it too, and turned, just in time to see Noel leaping at him, arms pulled back for a merciless swipe of her claws. But he leapt back, out of her reach. She bounded up to him, swinging wildly and snapping her jaws at him. But the prince was fast, deftly weaving through her swipes and bites, though Noel’s relentless flurry of attacks left him no room to retaliate.

But then, he launched himself into the air with an icicle, far above Noel’s reach. Without hesitation, he threw his sword of ice at the black beast. His aim was true, and as he landed a few _peds_ away, a new sword in hand, the blade struck Noel in the leg. The black beast cried out, and morphed back into young girl, crying in agony.

“ _Noel!_ ” Norn began to shine, as black scales erupted from Quinn’s arm. He rushed forward- Merdraut turned to him, his placid expression morphing to one of shock. The prince held up his fist, and a thick wall of ice shot up in front of Quinn. He simply lowered his shoulder and smashed through it as if it were nothing more than a glass window. He swung his axe at the prince in a blind fury. Merdraut weaved through the attacks deftly, but again had no opening. But even in his bestial form, the cold slowed Quinn, and after one missed swing, the prince retaliated with a slash of his own. Quinn roared in pain, the blade of ice slicing through the scales that had, until now, repelled every attack. He locked eyes with the prince, and with a roar, swung his axe with all his might.

Merdraut brought up his sword. But Quinn’s axe cleaved through the icy blade with ease, shattering it. The prince leapt back, and thrust out his hand, a new sword coalescing in his grip. But Quinn rushed forward, pulling his arm back for a powerful strike. Again, the prince tried to evade… but Quinn was faster, slashing his axe across the prince’s leg. Merdraut cried out and fell to one knee, raising his fist- the icy armor began to form over his body once again. But Quinn was undaunted- with a wild snarl, he pulled back his axe, gripping it with both hands, and let loose a wild, blindingly fast swing.

Merdraut’s breastplate shattered like glass under the blow, and the axe buried itself into the prince’s chest, right below his collarbone. The prince let out an agonized cry, unlike any sound Quinn had heard from him before. With a strong pull, Quinn wrenched his axe free, the scales on his arms retracting, and Norn falling dark. The battle was over- even the beast within could see that he had struck a mortal blow.

Merdraut retched and doubled over, thick streams of red running down the remnants of his armor of ice. But the prince didn’t fall. Instead, he brought up his hand, and laid it over his wound. In that moment, Quinn finally glimpsed the Ring, Fimbulvinter. A simple band of pure white, like the ice it summoned. Ice began to form within Merdraut’s wound, but unlike the rest of the prince’s creations, it was stained a dirty, ugly grey. Quinn could only look on in shock, as the prince slowly climbed back onto his feet, albeit heavily hunched over- Merdraut must have frozen the blood in his own veins to staunch his wound.

Still hunched over, and with a shuddering breath, Merdraut looked to Quinn. He wiped the blood from his lips with his arm, and said weakly, “Look around, Archon. Look, and tell me… how many more have to die… for the sake of… _your_ justice.”

Merdraut fell to his knees. He put out his hand, and another icy sword formed in his grip. But to Quinn’s surprise, he simply planted it in the ground in front of him, and leaned against it to stop himself from collapsing completely. The prince said nothing else- he simply took a few weak, shuddering breaths… before finally falling still, and silent.

Then, Merdraut’s ice armor, the ice at Quinn’s feet, the ice walls of the palace all began to… evaporate. They grew smaller and smaller, releasing vast billowing clouds of white steam, before vanishing entirely, leaving Quinn standing before the fallen prince on a grassy hill. The clouds too began to dissipate, and the sun shone brightly in the blue sky above. The fields remained blanketed in snow, but it would no doubt melt without Merdraut’s Ring, Fimbulvinter, to sustain it.

The only ice that remained was the sword still in Merdraut’s grasp.

The rest of the vanguard hurried up the hill. “What happened?” Uther asked. “All the ice is-” But the captain fell silent, when he laid eyes on the fallen body of the prince. “…I see.” Then, hearing Noel’s cries, looked to Julius. “Julius, see to the wounded. We will secure the body.”

Julius nodded. “Understood.” The priest hurried to the fallen girl. “Now Noel, I need you to hold still…”

Quinn then heard footsteps rapidly climbing the hill. He turned, but it wasn’t an enemy. “Captain!” Isaac called. “We’ve successfully routed the Burgundians’ main force.” His prideful expression faded when he saw Merdraut’s body. “And it seems that you were successful on your end as well.”

“So it seems.” Uther replied. “Send for a detachment to secure Prince Merdraut. He may have been our enemy, but I won’t have anyone desecrating his body…”

Uther’s words faded, as Quinn stared at Merdraut’s still-kneeling body. He turned, looking out over their battlefield. He wondered, how many bodies clad in red laid out there? How many of their own men had died in this battle? And how many more would die in the next? How many more people would have to die… before Oswald would be avenged?

“Quinn!” Uther said loudly.

Quinn jolted. “C-Captain?” he stammered.

“We’re returning to the main force to tend to the wounded,” the captain said. The rest of the vanguard had left, and a few soldiers were lifting Merdraut’s body onto a stretcher.

Quinn let out a long breath, Merdraut’s final words echoing in his head. “Captain… are we… doing the right thing?”

“Quinn?” Uther asked. “I know things are difficult, and I can understand losing your nerve, but-”

Quinn shook his head. “No, I haven’t lost my nerve. It’s just… why are fighting this war?”

Uther’s expression became stern. “My brother was murdered. Someone out there is responsible, and I won’t rest until I find them, and make them answer for what they’ve done.” He turned. “Let’s go.”

Uther walked away. Quinn followed in silence. He said no more, but his mind raced, finally understanding Ingrid’s apprehensions. Something… was wrong. Quinn thought he understood their situation. But Merdraut’s words cast light on missing pieces of their narrative, places where information didn’t quite align. Something… was missing.

But Quinn couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

* * *

 Quinn awoke with a gasp. It was dark in his tent, and at first, he saw nothing. But he could certainly _feel_ something- the weight of something resting on his chest. Something… warm.

The thing resting on his chest stirred, and in a sleepy, confused voice, mumbled, “ _Mmm… good guy?_ ”

“ _Gaaah!_ ” Letting out a surprised cry, Quinn bolted up from his bedroll and stumbled out of his tent. A moment passed, before the flap of his tent lifted, and a confused Noel peered out.

“Noel!” Quinn shouted. “What’re you doing in my tent!?”

“Good guy looked cold. So Noel wanted to warm him up.” Noel replied in a kind tone, as though what she’d done was perfectly normal.

Quinn could only stammer as he tried to compose himself.

Noel tilted her head in confusion. “Why does good guy look upset? Noel did the same thing all the time with Master.”

Quinn then remembered. Until recently, Noel had lived as a wolf for a long time- long enough that she’d forgotten how to speak, and dress herself. So, he shouldn’t have been surprised she didn’t understand the… implications of sharing a bed with someone. But even so. “Noel…” he began gently. “There’s… it’s not… proper, for a boy and a girl who aren’t related to sleep in the same bed.”

“Why though?” Noel asked.

“Because… because that’s how it is.” Quinn didn’t know how to explain it. But there were rules in society people had to follow, and that was that.

She crawled out of his tent, and back on top of him. “But why?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Answering her questions was difficult enough. But with her resting on top of him, any reasonable thought became nearly impossible. Quinn searched for something, _anything_ to use as an excuse. He finally blurted out, “A-Ask Miss Ingrid!”

Noel looked disappointed, but finally stood. “Okay…” she said sadly, and wandered away.

Quinn watched her leave, only returning to his tent once she was out of sight. He would probably earn a lecture for his troubles, but… explaining social norms most likely fell outside his duties as an Archon.

* * *

 It was still early in the day, but Quinn was hard at work. He swung his axe at a target he’d set up, trying to improve the speed and accuracy of his attacks. Quinn had thought his training at the College would suffice, but after his battle with Merdraut, it was clear he had a long way to go.

After several moments, however, he felt an odd sensation, as though something were watching him. He looked, and saw Uther standing nearby, watching with a hand on his chin, a serious expression on his face.

“Captain,” Quinn said. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, actually,” Uther replied. He stepped forward. “It was something I noticed in our last battle. Could you show me how you hold your weapon?”

“Uh, sure…” Quinn replied, not quite sure what the captain was getting at. But he did as he was asked, gripping his weapon tightly.

Uther looked on, and said, “Hmm… as I thought,” a hand on his chin, before drawing a sword hanging from his waist. “Now, I want you to attack me.”

“Wait- what?” Quinn stammered, completely flabbergasted.

“It’s alright. You will not harm me.” He lowered himself into a stance, sword ready.

Quinn could only stare at the captain in surprise. But Uther didn’t move. It seemed he was serious. So, Quinn would be as well. He rushed toward the captain, raised his axe, and swung with all his might, as though facing Merdraut again.

Uther tensed. He… turned his sword in his hands, and batted the axe aside with it. The shock from the impact caused Quinn to lose his grip, and the axe fell to the ground with a heavy _thunk_ . Quinn stumbled back to a safe distance, his eyes darting between the axe and Uther, wondering just _how_ the older man had disarmed him so easily.

Uther stood, leaving his stance. “Take up your weapon again.”

Quinn did as he was asked. But then, Uther approached. “This time, hold it _here_.” The captain pointed to a part of the shaft about a third of the length from the bottom. Quinn didn’t understand, but did as instructed.

Uther stepped back a few paces, lowering himself into his stance again. “Now, come at me one more time.”

This time, Quinn didn’t hesitate as he rushed the captain, swinging his axe from the side. As before, the captain’s sword seemed to turn in his hands, and he batted the axe aside. The blow reverberated through the weapon, but although Quinn stumbled, his grip remained firm. He quickly stepped back, readying himself, but Uther sheathed his sword with a satisfied smile. “It makes a world of difference, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Quinn asked, confused.

“Axes are relatively short compared to swords,” Uther began, “so it’s a natural instinct to grip the very bottom of the shaft, to extend its reach. But doing so means you have less control over your weapon, making it easier for an enemy to disarm you. Holding your weapon at that position gives you a better grip, and distributes weight properly. It’ll make your weapon easier to control, and strain your muscles less.”

Quinn looked down at his axe. It seemed to sit more comfortably in his hand now. And, he had noticed his shoulder was unusually sore after battle. More so than the rest of his body.

Uther continued, “I’ll continue to observe you on the battlefield. If I notice any openings in your technique, I’ll bring it to your attention so we can correct it.”

“Uh… are you sure?” Quinn asked, hesitant. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, but… “You have a whole army to lead. Do you really have time to help me out like this?”

Uther gave a reassuring smile. “I would do this for _any_ one of my men. In fact, I was going to lead the troops with some combat drills. Perhaps you would like to join us?”

Quinn returned his axe to the hook on his belt. Combat drills… no doubt there would a lot of eyes on him. But, if it would improve his chances of surviving the next battle, then he’d put up with it. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

* * *

 Noel wandered through the camp happily. There were so many exciting sounds and smells to investigate. Her instincts were going wild, and if she were in her wolf form, her tail would be wagging endlessly.

But something caught her eye in all the activity. A man, with glasses and blue robes, sitting calmly. Noel knew the man- he’d helped her the other day. Julius.

Noel bounded up to the priest. “What’s smart guy doing?”

Julius looked up at Noel, expressionless, an open book in his hands. “I would like to believe the book in my hands makes the answer to that rather obvious.”

Noel sat down next to him. “Can Noel look too?”

The priest was quiet, making Noel nervous. But eventually he replied, “You may. _Quietly_.” He turned his attention back to his book. Noel looked at the book, curious… before realizing that Julius was being very quiet.

“Smart guy…” she said. “Will you read your book to me?”

Julius turned a page, without looking up. “I apologize, but no. That would disturb the others.”

“Okay.” Julius resumed reading. But in the corner of his eye, he noticed something. Noel’s face was scrunched up considerably as she looked at the pages. And that was what she was doing- looking at the pages, _not_ reading the words printed on them.

Finally, he looked to her and asked, “Is there something the matter?”

Noel looked to him in return. “How can smart guy read that book? There’s no pictures!”

Julius adjusted his glasses, a realization coming to him. “Ah. I believe I understand now. You are unable to read.” With a sigh, he closed his book and stood up. “This will not do,” he said, before walking away.

Noel bounced up to her feet, and into Julius’s path to stop him. “Where is smart guy going?”

“I need to gather instructional materials,” Julius replied. “I am sorry, but I must be going. But I ask that you come back around this time tomorrow so we can begin your lessons.”

Noel tilted her head. “Lessons? For what?”

Julius replied matter-of-factly: “I have taken it upon myself to teach you how to read.”

Noel tilted her head the other way. “But, why? Master always read for me.”

Julius scowled slightly. “That may be. But that was when you lived as a wolf. You are a human now. And there are certain skills that you will need to learn if you wish to be a productive member of society. Come to my tent tomorrow. And try not to dally.” He stepped around her, mumbling, “Would the convoy have any reading primers, I wonder?” leaving Noel behind, alone and confused.

* * *

 Night had fallen, and the army had ceased activities for the day. Quinn wandered the camp, searching for a certain someone. Fortunately, her distinct attire made her rather easy to find. She sat in front of a campfire, a book in her hands, still wearing her mask. He knew that he probably should just leave the woman be. But when he looked at her, he felt a… nagging sensation. It wasn’t that she was particularly unusual-looking, but she seemed… _familiar_ , in a way he couldn’t place.

As he looked at her, Rune suddenly said out loud, without looking up, “If you have something to say, then say it. Otherwise, leave.”

Quinn was taken aback, but approached- hiding was pointless now. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“No,” she replied flatly.

Quinn stammered. “I… haven’t asked anything yet.”

Rune turned to the next page of her book. “I don’t care. My answer is no.”

Quinn sighed in defeat and turned away. He didn’t know why he expected a different response.

But before he could walk away, he heard Rune huff. “…Ask your question.”

He looked back. He hesitated to ask, but… she’d given permission. And she might have taken offense if he declined her offer. So, Quinn asked. “Could you take off your mask? Just for a moment?”

“No.”

“I… I see.” Again, he wasn’t particularly surprised. In the end, perhaps he would have been better off leaving things alone.

But then, Rune surprised Quinn by asking a question of her own: “Why would my appearance matter to you, anyway?”

Quinn scratched his head, nervous under the woman’s scrutiny. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not any of my business, but… you seem really familiar to me for some reason.”

Quinn fell silent, unsure of what else to say. He expected that Rune would snap back that he was right that it wasn’t any of his business, but she remained silent. He was just about to turn away again, when she asked, “You studied at the Arcane College, right?”

He looked back, unsure where the conversation was going, but answered, “Yeah, I did.”

Rune closed her book, turning her attention to Quinn fully. “In the central hallway of the west wing, there’s a gallery with portraits of all the College’s notable instructors. The third to last painting on the northern wall on the east side. _That_ is where you recognize me from.”

Quinn searched his memories for the gallery at the College Rune described. It was faint, but he _did_ recall a portrait at that spot, depicting a beautiful woman with bright blue eyes and long flowing red hair. He only remembered it because Professor Isaac’s portrait was to the immediate right of it.  “…how would she know about such a specific painting?” Quinn muttered.

Rune heard his words, and answered: “I know about it because it’s a portrait of _me._ ”

Quinn stared at the woman in white in shock. “You? Wait, you were a professor at the College? When?”

Rune stood. “I think you’ve asked more than your fair share of questions for today.” Her tone, and her expression from what little he could see of her face told Quinn that their conversation was now over. And then, she walked away, without another word.

“Her… a professor?” Quinn had a hard time believing it. Rune’s personal skills left something to be desired… but perhaps it wasn’t so strange after all. If him- without any appreciable magic skills- and Gail, being… _Gail_ could be admitted as students, then… perhaps anything was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rune- Rune is somewhat unique amongst the cast. She was one of the characters who was retained when the story was revised, but she was also one of the first characters to be made in the story’s original concept. She was directly inspired by Seres of Tales of Berseria in both appearance and personality, and would even bear variants of that name for quite some time, though it wouldn’t be until the revision that I would start seriously considering a new name for her. Of all the characters from the original concept, she was the most fleshed out, with her backstory being almost entirely established and retained in the current story. Ideally, she would be voiced by Monica Rial.
> 
> Prim- Although Prim and Zara were much less fleshed out than Rune, they made the transition from the concept to the story’s current incarnation all the same. Initially, Prim was completely infatuated with Evangelyne, but over time, this infatuation would change to apathy, for both Evangelyne and the world as a whole, initially present in Rune, and spread to the other retainers. She was also initially envisioned as a mage, but after the revision, she would become a Dancer. Despite the name, Prim has no connection whatsoever to Primrose from Octopath Traveler- the similarities in their names was purely coincidental. That said, Prim would take some inspiration from that game, in the form of her outfit- however, her outfit was inspired by H’aanit’s dancer attire, rather than Primrose’s. Her ideal voice actor would be Brianna Knickerbocker.
> 
> Zara- The last of Evangelyne’s retainers was the least well-defined before the revision. After the rework, she became a Dark Mage, and to a lesser extent, a Tharja copy. Over time, though, the stalking tendencies were transplanted to another character, and for a little while, Zara had no personality to speak of. But after a bit of consideration, I decided to make Zara a sort of anti-Tharja, inverting all of Tharja’s character traits, and becoming a warm, friendly, maternal character. Appearance-wise, she takes most of her cues from the Yorha Operators from Nier Automata, primarily 6O. If she were to have a voice actor, it would be Stephanie Sheh.
> 
> Merdraut- It was somewhat inevitable that in the course of the story, the characters would face wielders of Rings of Power who opposed them. Although the first chronologically encountered, Merdraut was actually added fairly late to the story, after the main cast and a good portion of the supporting cast and antagonists (being added after his own younger brother). Although from a France analogue, Merdraut’s name is actually derived from the Welsh variant of Mordred. In terms of archetypes, Merdraut is a straight Camus, fighting to protect his nation. Like other characters who have a somewhat important role in the story, he was named, but I didn’t have a clear image of what he looked like, but in the end, took some cues from Flynn Schifo from Tales of Vesperia. If he had a voice actor, it would probably be Cam Clarke.  
> Merdraut’s Ring, Fimbulvinter, derives its name from Fimbulvetr (or Fimbulwinter), the three-year long winter in Norse mythology that precedes Ragnarok. Its ice-generating abilities are too broad to be narrowed down to a single inspiration.


	14. Chapter XI: Ragnarok

**Chapter XI: Ragnarok**

**Enderi 5**

Quinn laid in his bedroll, unable to sleep. The scent of strong ale wafted into his tent, and he could hear the lower-ranked soldiers singing loudly. The celebrations had begun not long after their victory over Merdraut and his forces- they’d continued all through the night, into the next day, all the way up to the present. He understood why the army would be in such high spirits- for most, their hatred of the Burgundians was no secret, so any victory over their most ancient rival, no matter how insignificant, was an achievement worth celebrating. That their most recent victory had been against Burgundy’s own crown prince, of all people, served only to inflame their passions further. Even the otherwise stoic Uther wasn’t immune- Quinn had seen the captain sharing more than a few mugs of ale with the other soldiers.

But Quinn couldn’t join the revelry. Not with Merdraut’s final words hanging over him. He had planned to simply sleep through the night, but found himself unable to, simply staring up at the ceiling of his tent in the dark.

So, Quinn left his tent, and wandered the camp as if in a fog. There were still plenty of soldiers, and even a few other members of the vanguard about, but most didn’t pay him any mind. One soldier _did_ stop him, cheerfully handing him a mug full of ale, but Quinn quietly dumped it once he was out of sight. He’d never had money to spend at the tavern in Grimhold, so unlike the other miners, he’d never picked up a taste for alcohol.

Quinn’s wandering eventually took him to the edge of the camp. Out here, away from the others, the sky was clear, and the air was cold, a lingering effect from Fimbulvinter’s power. But much to his surprise, someone was already here, looking out over the dark fields. He approached, and said, “Miss Ingrid…”

The inquisitor glanced over to him. “Good evening, Quinn. Or perhaps, ‘Good morning’ would be more appropriate.”

The two fell silent, standing side-by-side. Quinn was unsure of what to say. But then, he remembered what Ingrid had said, before they’d left for Fort Guyenne- that there was no evidence Burgundy had been preparing for war. He recalled the missing pieces of the narrative thus far. Perhaps, the inquisitor might be able to fill in those gaps.

And so, he said out loud, “…you were right.”

Ingrid looked over, confused. “About what?”

“This whole situation.” Quinn lowered his gaze. “I’ve been thinking about something… Prince Merdraut said. It made me realize that things… aren’t adding up. There’s something missing- something that we aren’t seeing, and I didn’t realize it until now.” He looked over, to the inquisitor. “All this time, I was wondering why you were so against the war. Is that why? Did you see something all the way back then?”

Ingrid took a step forward, looking out over the field. “I’ll admit, I have my suspicions about how conveniently everything fell into place. It has all the earmarks of a set-up.”

“Huh?” Quinn understood each of Ingrid’s words on their own. But put in that sequence, they somehow seemed to lose all meaning.

Ingrid brought a hand up to her chin. “If my suspicions about this war are correct…” she continued. “Whoever killed Oswald deliberately engineered events around the assassination to make it _appear_ that Burgundy was the culprit.”

If Quinn had been asked to describe Ingrid’s statement at that moment, the only word that would have come to mind would have been… _bold_.

Bold, but not _completely_ unreasonable.

In fact, looking back on the events of that day, it made a startling amount of sense. It seemed oddly convenient that they received word of a large movement of troops at the Hessian border mere hours after Oswald’s death- without means to communicate instantly over long distances, like Coronis, the Burgundians wouldn’t… _couldn’t_ have known if the assassination was a success for at least a few days. Not to mention, Juno had been completely unaware that war had been declared. The more he thought about it, the less incredible it seemed.

“You think so?” Quinn asked. “But why? And who would want something like that?”

Ingrid continued to stand, her back turned. “Most likely, they used the war to distract others from their own actions. Or, it’s possible they wished to weaken Bannon, Burgundy, Hessen, or even all three at once. But, without knowing _who_ the real culprit is, we can guess at their motives.”

Quinn circled around Ingrid, so they were face-to-face. “What should we do then? Should we tell Captain Uther? Mother Agnes?”

To Quinn’ surprise, Ingrid shook her head. “No. For now… we stay the course, and see this war through. To the end.”

“ _What!?_ ” Quinn asked in shock. If what Ingrid said was true, then the war, everything they had done thus far, had been based on a lie. All the people they had killed… had died for nothing. And if they kept going…

Ingrid looked him sternly. “I know what you’re going to say,” she said. “But all of this is just speculation. We don’t have any hard evidence. And even if we _had_ evidence that this war _was_ caused by deliberately falsified information, Prince Merdraut, along with countless Burgundians, Bannishmen, and Hessians, are dead. Nobody is simply going to let that go.”

Quinn opened his mouth to reply… before shutting it. Something Lindow had said before they set out from Tristan echoed in his mind: _People are slow to forget, and even slower to forgive._

Ingrid reached out, putting a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “I know this situation is far from ideal. I know that by going forward, more people will die. But, that’s what it means to be a soldier. To uphold your duty, regardless of your own feelings.”

Quinn didn’t say anything in reply. He couldn’t. He knew what he’d agreed to when he joined the Order. He and Ingrid had already had this discussion. But before, he could at least comfort himself with the thought that all his actions had been done for the sake of a noble cause. But now…

Ingrid continued, “When we return to the Abbey, I’m going to put in a request to Mother Agnes to investigate this situation further. Whatever the truth might be, I promise you that I _will_ find it.” She squeezed his shoulder. “But until then, I need you to be strong for me. Can you do that, Quinn?”

Quinn nodded, finally finding his voice again. “…yeah.”

Ingrid gave a small smile, which quickly faded. “You should try to get some rest. We should be moving on soon.”

Quinn obliged, returning to his tent. But as he stared up into the darkness, sleep again would not come to him. Ingrid’s words had set a fire in him, and his mind burned with questions. Was the war really a set-up? And who was responsible? Could it be Kherson, the nation that everyone seemed to dread? Or, were rouge elements within Bannon itself to blame? Or, had Hessen been responsible, and framed Burgundy for the deed? And, what, if anything, would these nations gain from this war?

But although Quinn’s mind raced with questions, he could provide no answers.

* * *

By morning, the casks of ale had finally run dry. So, the army continued their march to Agravain, albeit slowly, both because of the wounded, and the not-insignificant hangovers the majority of the soldiers were nursing.

With the celebrations out of the way, Isaac was finally able to report the events that took place on the battlefield. Both sides had started on roughly equal footing, with around three thousand men to each side- but, being in a defensive position _and_ equipped to counter Fimbulvinter’s powers, the Burgundians quickly took the upper hand. Isaac’s force made little progress in breaking the Burgundian defenses, but as soon as the walls of the ice palace began to crumble and the weather cleared, the Burgundians broke ranks and fled in all directions, seemingly understanding what it meant. Bannon had won the day, but not before suffering considerable losses- one quarter of the army was dead, injured, or simply unaccounted for.

But according to Isaac, Merdraut’s force was simply the beginning. He predicted that a twenty thousand strong force would be garrisoned at Agravain, at minimum, and they would _need_ reinforcements before besieging the city. So the army’s slower pace served another purpose, giving additional time for the reinforcements to catch up with them.

On the morning of the the third day after resuming their march- the fifth after the battle against Merdraut, Uther’s forces heard a loud brassy tone ring out over the plains. They looked to its source- up ahead, from the southeast, a large column was approaching them. The approaching column was easily three times the size of their own. “To arms!” Uther shouted. “

“Wait!” Isaac called. “Look at their banners.”

Isaac was right- the approaching column wasn’t flying Burgundian flags, but flags of blue, and green-and-white- the colors of Hessen and Burgundy.

Ingrid looked out, a hand on her chin. “Reinforcements?” she asked. “But how did they get ahead of us?”

Gail bounded up to Quinn’s side, and leaned forward, squinting as she tried to get a better look at the approaching column. “Quinn, look at those people in front,” she said. “Weren’t they at your initiation ceremony?”

Quinn looked, and saw a number of very familiar faces at the head of the column. One was a towering, dark-skinned man, with curly red hair that covered his eyes, holding an axe in each hand. The second was a young woman with blonde hair and a white dress, seated on a dark grey horse. At her side walked a blue-haired man wearing a mask, a curved sword hanging from his back. And marching at the very front…

“ _Heeeey!_ ” Evangelyne called. She broke away from her group and raced toward Quinn. “I heard about the good news!” The blonde woman wasted no time sliding up to Quinn, and draping an arm over his shoulder. “Congratulations on your victory! I wish I could’ve seen the fight for myself.” She pulled herself closer. “Oh, and good job keeping my darling retainers alive.”

“Uh…” Quinn looked away, but not out of embarrassment. Normally, Evangelyne’s interactions made him uncomfortable on their own. But to be reminded of that day, of Merdraut’s last words…

Evangelyne slipped back as the rest of her group came to a halt, placing both hands on Quinn’s shoulders. “Come on, you should be happier, you know. Fimbulvinter is one of the most powerful Rings we know about. And _you_ managed to bring down its wielder.” She glanced around, to the other members of the vanguard. “I mean, you had help, but even so. It’s impressive for someone whose Ring isn’t specialized for battle.”

Ingrid stepped forward, conspicuously clearing her throat. “Master Evangelyne…” she began. “May I ask what you and the others are doing here?”

But before Evangelyne could answer, a new voice replied, “I asked for her to accompany me.” It was a woman’s voice, gentle, yet somehow able to reach all of them, as though the world itself quieted to hear her words.

Both Ingrid and Quinn flinced, recognizing the voice. And sure enough, stepping out from between Orion and Yonah was a woman with ghostly pale skin and faint silver hair, wearing robes of pure white. Her eyes were seemingly shut as always, but it was clear her gaze was focused on Ingrid.

Ingrid removed her cap, pale. “M-Mother Agnes…” she said. “You should have sent word. We could have prepared for your arrival.”

“It’s alright,” Mother Agnes replied, the calm smile on her face never faltering. “Our campaign won’t last long enough for me to need any special accommodations.”

“This is quite a surprise, Mother Agnes,” Uther said. “Why have you come here? And… how did you arrive ahead of us?”

“Let’s just say that I called on a few favors owed to me by the Vanderijck Trade Guild. But that aside…” Her smile then vanished, as she turned to the road ahead. “The upcoming battle in Agravain will be our final battle, and our most difficult yet,” she said somberly. “If we are to win the day, then all of us- both in the army and the Order- must do our part. And as leader of the Archonite Order, I have my own role to fulfill.” She turned her gaze to Uther’s troops. “Now, I would like to see you wounded, if I may.”

“Mother Agnes,” Ingrid began, hesitant. “You don’t need to trouble yourself with such matters. Our own medics-”

Agnes opened her eyes ever so slightly. “ _I insist_ ,” she said firmly. “We must ensure that our soldiers are in their absolute best condition for the trials ahead.”

For a few moments, silence fell among the group. Then, Uther cleared his throat. “Very well,” he said. “Miss Lecarde, please guide Mother Agnes to the wounded.”

Elizabeth saluted and replied, “As yew wish, Yer Majesty,” before turning to Mother Agnes. “Follow me, please.”

Mother Agnes nodded. “Excellent. Come, Evangelyne, we have work to do.”

Evangelyne, who was being a bit too… _familiar_ with Rune, scoffed, but quickly came to Mother Agnes’s side. “Oh, alright then. Inspections can wait until later anyway.”

Once the two had departed, Uther approached Orion and Yonah. “Are you two in charge of this unit?”

“That’s right,” Orion replied.

The captain nodded approvingly. “Good. If our units are going to integrate, we’ll need to establish a new chain of command.”

“Excellent thinking, Captain,” Isaac said, stepping forward as well and adjusting his glasses. “We’ll also need to adjust our formation due to the larger number of troops. We should gather the officers for a meeting…” Isaac began to walk toward the camp, with Uther, Orion, and Yonah quickly following them.

“Hey, w-wait up, Professor!” Gail called, and chased after the group.

Ingrid turned to Quinn. “I’m sorry, Quinn. But I should be going as well. I’m sure Mother Agnes will need assistance in tending our wounded.” And like the others, she too hurried away, leaving Quinn alone, and unsure what to do.

* * *

**Enderi 13**

It would take another five days of travel before Uther and Mother Agnes’s combined force finally reached Agravain. And upon laying eyes on the city, the vanguard was greeted by a sea of red.

A mass of soldiers in wine-red waited outside the walls. The mass of men seemed to stretch on and on, both to the east and west, with no end in sight. Quinn paled. Even with their own reinforcements, the Burgundians must have had twice… no, three times as many men as their own force, at the very least. This was not a fight that they could win, at least not at the moment.

“Gods…” Gwin gasped. “I’ve never seen so many soldiers.”

“I was expecting significant Burgundian numbers,” Isaac began. “But this is far beyond what I predicted.”

“What should we do, Professor?” Malcolm asked his teacher. “Should we wait for another group of reinforcements?”

But as the rest of the vanguard discussed what to do, something happened that nobody was expecting: Mother Agnes stepped forward.

“Please,” she said. “Allow _me_ to speak to them.”

Ingrid turned to Mother Agnes in surprise. “Mother Agnes, are you sure that’s wise?”

It was not Agnes who replied, but Isaac: “The Order _is_ meant to be a neutral party. And, she once had strong ties to the Burgundian royal family. If she speaks to them directly, we may be able to pass through without a fight.”

“We’ll prepare an escort for you,” Uther added. “Just allow us a few moments to-”

“An escort won’t be necessary,” Agnes replied, firmly.

“Mother Agnes, please,” Ingrid said, insistent. “At least allow _me_ to accompany you. As an inquisitor, I cannot in good-”

She turned, opening her eyes ever so slightly, to reveal nothing but black. “ _It’s quite alright_ . I’m _more_ than capable of protecting myself.” And without another word, she began to walk toward the Burgundian camp.

It didn’t take long for the Burgundians to notice the woman in white approaching. At once, about a half-dozen set upon her, surrounding her, their spears aimed directly at her, forcing her to come to a halt. The rest formed a long line, their weapons raised to stop any enemy from breaking through. Mother Agnes looked to the soldiers surrounding her. “Please, lower your weapons. I haven’t come to fight.”

None of the soldiers moved.

Agnes rested a hand on her chest. “I am Mother Anges, founder and leader of the Archonite Order. I wish to speak with your king, Martel.”

“We have nothing to say to you!” one of the soldiers surrounding her shouted.

Agnes’s smile shrank slightly, but held. “My Order was once headquartered in Burgundy, you know. I worked alongside your ancient kings to bring peace to the land. And that is what I have come here to do today.”

The soldier in front of Agnes looked over her shoulder, to the Bannish-Hessian army. “It’s easy to talk about peace with an army at your back, isn’t it?”

Agnes’s smile vanished, and small creases began to form in her forehead. “I _will_ have words with Martel. Let me pass; I _asked_ for the cooperation of your kings. I _demand_ it from _you._ ”

The soldier approached Agnes, bringing the point of his spear right into her face. “You have a lot of nerve to think you can make demands in your position.”

Any trace of calmness vanished as Agnes brushed the spear aside, setting her face into a hard glare. “ _Raise your weapon against me again, and you will not live long enough to regret it._ ”

The soldier let out a low chuckle. “I’m going to assume that was a hostile response.” Then without warning, he pulled his arm back, and thrust his spear into Agnes’s side.

A few of the watching members of the vanguard gasped. Ingrid’s hand flew to her sword and she crouched in preparation to race forward, but Evangelyne put a hand on her shoulder. “Just wait.” They looked again. Agnes was still standing. It wasn’t like the time Quinn had attacked her, though. She didn’t gasp in pain, she didn’t recoil. She… didn’t react at all, save to look down at the spear now impaled in her stomach. She turned her gaze back to the guard, opening her eyes fully. Her words echoed across the field:

“ _I see that we’re done being civil._ ”

Agnes inhaled sharply, a orange glow shining in her chest, before breathing out a long stream of fire with a deafening screech. The flames swallowed the soldier and his weapon, leaving behind only the head, still embedded in Agnes’s side. But the older woman wasn’t finished. She turned, still breathing a long stream of flame at the other soldiers surrounding her. They had already turned and tried to run away. But there was no escape- the flames swallowed them whole, leaving nothing behind, as if the soldiers had never existed at all.

Agnes reached down, tearing out the spearhead impaled in her side before tossing it away. Then snapped her attention toward the rest of the soldiers. A good number had fled, but there were still plenty with greater fortitude, who wasted no time surrounding the older woman again. Her eyes were wide, burning a bright red, but her face seemed… _wrong_ somehow. It seemed… longer, like the snout of a beast, and filled with sharp teeth. She snarled at the remaining soldiers, her chest glowing in preparation for another flaming breath. But then, a great burst of flame completely swallowed Agnes, before a massive creature burst forth from the flames. It was an enormous scaled creatures, standing on four slim, clawed legs, a horned head perched atop a long neck, and two great white wings sprouting from its back. It was massive, easily bigger than a house, and certainly the biggest living creature Quinn had ever laid eyes on. The creature’s scales were white on top, but silver underneath, just like the walls and roof tiles of the Abbey, and Fort Felhold. But as shocking as the transformation was, Quinn recognized the creature- he’d seen it depicted on every banner that hung in the Abbey.

The soldiers recognized the beast as well. “ _Dragon!_ ” Spears and arrows rained down on the dragon from the crowd of soldiers, striking the dragon, but the blows simply bounced off its scales, not even leaving a mark.

The dragon reared back, and with a screech, breathed out another stream of fire. It was bigger than the first- and even at their current distance, Quinn and the rest of the vanguard could feel the intense heat from the flames. Plume after plume shot from the beasts mouth, swallowing dozens of men without a moment of hesitation. The crowd soon began to retreat from the dragon, many simply dropping their weapons and running away as fast as they could. But she chased after them without mercy, her flames burning away the helpless men.

A number of the Burgundians turned and ran toward the column. “Ready!” Uther shouted, and the men around him drew their weapons.

But Evangelyne said, “No. Let them pass.”

Uther looked to the blonde. “What?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t think they’ll be coming back.” Sure enough, most of the soldiers that came their way ran right past, not even giving the column a second look.

Soon, the vanguard realized the screeching let out by the dragon had finally stopped. They looked, to see it standing alone in a great charred circle, with even the grass having been burned away. The Burgundians’ army, the massive sea of red that had been waiting for them… was gone. Quinn couldn’t say how many had fled… and how many that dragon had burned alive, leaving nothing behind, not even ashes.

A powerful gust then swept across the plains as the dragon flapped its wings, rising up into the air, and turned its gaze toward the city. “ ** _Hear me, insects!_ ** ” the dragon bellowed. “ ** _And look upon my fury! All who would dare to stand before the might of Ragnarok will die this day!_ ** ” The dragon inhaled one last time, and let out a long stream of fire aimed at the city gate. The enormous structure of wood and metal quickly burned to ashes, leaving the city wide open. And with another roar, the dragon darted ahead, breathing long streams of flame over the city below.

Evangelyne laughed, clapping her hands together as though she’d been watching a play. “Good show, Agnes,” she said, before adding in a darker tone, “ _Looks like I won’t have to hold back, either._ ” She looked to her side. “Quinn, be a dear and keep my retainers out of trouble.” She began to walk toward the city, placing a hand under her chin, and forcing her head to the side with several loud _crack_ s. “ _Oh, I’m going to enjoy this…_ ”

For several moments, the vanguard could only watch Evangelyne depart in a stunned silence. Then, as if suddenly coming to her senses, Ingrid turned to the others. “We need to move in to support Evangelyne and Mother Agnes,” she stated.

“Agreed…” Isaac replied, looking over the city. “There should be a castle at the south end of the city. We’ll regroup there.”

“Understood,” Uther said, and turned to the rest of the men. “We’ll be entering through that breach. Standard procedure- fan out and engage the enemy at your discretion. Our rendezvous point will the castle at the south end of the city.”

“What if we encounter surrendering enemy soldiers, Captain?” Fiona asked.

For several moments, Uther didn’t answer. Then finally, with his face set in a grim glare, he replied, “…give no quarter to the enemy. They’ve had _more_ than their fair number of chances to surrender before now. Now move out.”

“Understood, sir,” Fiona replied, before pulling out a brass horn. She blew into it twice, the signal for the column to advance.

The column moved quickly, the soldiers eager for a fight. They moved cautiously through the gates- the stones of the wall around it were still glowing red where the dragon’s flames had passed over them. But once they were inside, the soldiers quickly fanned out and moved through the streets, searching for any Burgundian soldiers in hiding. Quinn was separated from the others, pushed this way and that by the surging crowd, until suddenly, he was pushed into a narrow gap between two stone buildings. The sound of footsteps soon faded, leaving only the distant roar of great fires, and the occasional screech from the dragon overhead.

He stepped out into the now deserted street. The dragon’s fires were spreading quickly, and sweat was already beginning to build on his brow from the heat. He walked the streets, slowly, axe ready. Then, he heard footsteps, and voices in the next street. Quietly, he slipped into an alley between buildings. He tightened his grip on his axe, expecting to find more Burgundians. But rather, he found Raquel, and Gideon, mounted on his strange skeletal horse. As they approached, he heard the young man say, “Shouldn’t we hurry, Miss Raquel.”

“Relax, Gideon, the witch replied. “That castle won’t get up and walk away before it can get to us.”

Quinn breathed a sigh of relief, before stepping out into the open. “Hey, Gideon! Raquel! I’m glad-”

The witch jolted and spun around, throwing a fireball in Quinn’s direction. He flinched, but it flew wide to his right, and struck a building, shattering its facade and sending burning splinters raining down the narrow street. Raquel blinked in surprise once she had a good look of who she just attacked. “Wait, _you!_ Whatsyourname… _Quinn!_ What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking… we could team up, and work our way to the rendezvous point,” he replied, looking over at the blasted out building.

Gideon rode up to the witch. “I think that’s a good idea, Miss Raquel. It’s safer for us if we travel in a bigger group.”

Raquel crossed her arms and huffed. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Now,” Quinn began, looking around. They needed to move south. He wasn’t much of a navigator, but he learned a person could orient themselves using the sun. Only, there was so much smoke in the air that the sun was completely blotted out. “Which way is south?”

Gideon looked around. Apparently, Quinn missed something, as after only a few moments, he pointed to the buildings to his left. “That way. Let’s go.”

The three pressed on, searching for a cross-street to head south. Not five minutes of walking later, they could hear some kind of commotion ahead. Shouting, and some kind of roar. It must have been Mother Agnes fighting against the Burgundians.

But before they could take even a single step forward, the ground shook, and something rounded the street corner up ahead.

It was… a _monster_ . That was the only word Quinn could use to describe it. At first, he didn’t notice the monster’s skin, or rather its lack thereof, leaving bones, sinews, and muscles twitching in full, horrific detail. He didn’t notice its head, stripped of all flesh, giving the appearance of a macabre grin. He didn’t even notice that the thing was over twice his height. What he _did_ notice, at first, were what he thought were wings, sprouting from its shoulders. But with a second look, he realized they were nothing of the sort. They were a second set of arms, as wide as a tree trunk, ending with talons as long and as sharp as swords.

Then, he saw the eyes.

The thing was covered in them- there was one on its thigh, its forearm, its bicep… and an enormous cluster, seemingly growing out from one another, in the middle of its chest. They were all the same shade of yellow-green, and the way they blinked and moved, it was clear that every single eye worked… and that several were looking right at Quinn.

The thing turned, flashing its hideous grin, and stepped toward him. It must have been well over fifty _peds_ away, but even at that distance, he could still feel the ground shake from its footfalls, the cobbled streets cracking and buckling beneath the monster’s every step. At first, Quinn simply stood frozen. Nothing in his life could have prepared him to encounter a… _being_ like this. But he held up his axe, and shouted, “ _Stay back!_ ” But his warning rang hollow. His arms were trembling, and he had already begun backing away before the creature had even begun its approach. Even with his Ring’s power, how could he- a normal human- stand to face such a monstrosity?

But Raquel didn’t hesitate. Fire formed in her hands, and she threw a ball of flames at the thing with all her might. It made no attempt to avoid it, and the fireball struck its mark. But the thing simply stepped through the flames, seemingly unharmed, its flesh not even slightly charred. Raquel readied another fireball…

But then… the thing spoke. In a woman’s voice that was very familiar: “Put that down before you hurt yourself.”

Quinn blinked, unsure if he could trust his own ears. He stared up as the thing finally came to a stop in front of him, looking down at him in turn. Several moments passed, before Quinn finally worked up the nerve to ask, “…Miss… _Evangelyne?_ ”

There was a spray of blood as the thing’s chest ripped open, and the air was filled with the sound of flesh tearing and bones cracking as the thing’s massive body twisted and folded in on itself, reshaping itself into a much smaller form. In mere moments, it was over, and a blood soaked woman with long blonde hair, just slightly shorter than he was, stood in the thing’s place.

Evangelyne wiped away the blood covering her face with her hand. “Sorry to scare you like that. But it’s just been so long since I’ve been able to cut loose like this, you know?”

Raquel and Gideon could only stare, mouth agape, at the sight. Eventually, the witch stammered, “What… what the hell was _that?_ ”

Evangelyne smiled at the witch. “Like I said, my Ring can do so much _more_ than just heal people.”

Just then, a handful of soldiers rounded the corner Evangelyne emerged from. “It went this way!” one of them shouted. These soldiers weren’t dressed in the normal red tunics of the other Burgundians, though- rather, their tunics were black. They must have been some type of city guard, specifically for Agravain. The guards, about ten in all, quickly spotted the group. “Forget the monster! Get those dastards!”

Evangelyne grinned an inhumanly wide smile that seemed much too large for her face, and showed far too many teeth. “ _Sorry. Break time’s over._ ” She turned, her arm exploding in a spray of gore, revealing a long, blade made of bone. At the same time, her shoulder tore open, and a a thin, skeletal arm tipped with another bony blade sprouted from the wound. She reared back, and let out a monstrous screech before charging at the soldiers on all fours. The guards turned and ran away… but not before the monster Evangelyne transformed into caught up to one. She rammed into him with her shoulder, knocking him down, before savagely slashing him with her blades, shredding through his armor and flesh alike as though they were little more than paper. She looked down at her work, before rearing back and letting out a wild howl, and bounded away.

For a moment, the three could only stare in shock. But eventually Raquel looked to Quinn, and demanded, “Are _all_ of you Order people able to turn into some kind of monsters?”

“Believe me,” Quinn answered, equally incredulous, “this is just as much of a surprise to me.”

And so it was. Quinn and the others continued to advance south as planned. He never had to raise his axe against anyone- most of the soldiers were already dead by the time he reached them, leaving Quinn to step over either eviscerated bodies left in fresh pools of blood, or over black, still warm scorch marks in the stone where soldiers had doubtlessly stood. The few that survived fled for their lives without even attempting to stop him, Raquel, or Gideon. All the while, the air was filled with deafening screeches and flashes of heat as the dragon rained fire down on the city, and wild howls as whatever monster Evangelyne had turned into stalked the streets, cutting down soldiers without mercy.

Eventually- Quinn couldn’t say how long- Gideon spotted something, and directed his mount down an alley. Raquel noticed, and chased after him. “Hey, Gideon! Where are you going?” Quinn followed the two through the alley, and emerged on a long stone walkway at the edge of the ocean. Many ships were anchored here, or had been- now they were nothing but still-smoking shells partially poking out of the water.

“A harbor,” Quinn said.

Gideon looked around, before pointing to their right. “Look over there,” he said. About a half- _milla_ away, standing behind another set of walls built along the water’s edge, was a castle keep, square-shaped, its grey stone tinged a slight green by the salt of the ocean.

Raquel breathed a sigh of relief. “Hah, finally. I was getting sick of all this walking.”

“The others are probably waiting for us over there,” Quinn said. “Let’s get going.”

The three hurried toward the castle. There, in a square in front of a great stone staircase leading up to the castle gates, the others had gathered. Many, though far from all, the members of the vanguard and the soldiers that had accompanied them were already waiting. “Hey, there you are!” Gwin said, dismounting. “We were thinking of sending people out to go looking for you.”

“Is Captain Uther here?” Quinn asked.

Gwin shook his head. “Not yet.”

Julius approached. “I have every confidence the Captain will be here before long.”

The priest’s confidence was well placed, as only a few minutes later, Uther arrived, accompanied by a large contingent of soldiers. Still, they continued to wait, as soldiers continued to make their way to the square.

Then, the ground shook with rhythmic pulses, and there was a sudden uproar among the soldiers, followed by Evangelyne shoutly harshly, “You’ll get out of my way if you know what’s good for you!” The crowd quickly parted, allowing Evangelyne to pass. She’d taken on another monstrous form, her arm twisted and massive, nearly as big as her whole body on its own, with a bony spike jutting from her shoulder. An unfortunate Burgundian soldier was impaled on the spike, his limbs swaying limply with Evangeline's every movement. There was a spray of blood as her body folded in on itself, and the Evangelyne Quinn recognized soon emerged. “Hah,” she breathed. “Uther, I made a sweep through the city. All the soldiers who _can_ make it are already here.”

“I… see,” the captain replied, clearly unsettled by the blonde’s transformation. “Now, how will we get… Mother Agnes’s attention?” He looked to the sky- the dragon was still flying over the city, burning everything in sight.

“I’ll get her attention.” Evangelyne’s arms twisted, morphing into black claws, and she climbed a nearby building, stabbing her talons into the wood with ease. When she reached the roof, she reared back, and let out a long, deafening howl that no creature on the earth should, or even _could_ , ever make.

But, it worked. The dragon banked, and began circling in the sky above the castle, before swooping down toward the steps, the soldiers quickly scrambling back to give her space. The ground shook when the dragon landed, and everyone save for Evangelyne stumbled from the impact. The dragon roared again, and flames erupted from its body, consuming it entirely. After a moment, the fire dispersed, leaving behind a very angry looking Mother Agnes. She looked up at the castle, and shouted, “ _Martel!_ Your armies are broken and your city lies in ruins! There is nothing protecting you from me! Now come out! I was merciful before, but if I have to come looking for you, I will not be in such a forgiving mood!”

There was no answer from the castle. Agnes glared, and small flames began to ignite in the air around her…

But then, the doors at the top of the steps opened, and two figures emerged. One was an old man, with long, thinning white hair and an equally thin beard, dressed in a loose red robe. The other was a burly man with blonde hair cut extremely short, wearing a battered, dull grey set of armor. “No!” the old man called weakly, slowly descending the steps. After reaching the bottom, he took a long breath. “No,” he said again. “That is enough. I will not have anymore blood spilled today.”

“At least one of you is sensible,” Agnes said stiffly. “Though you must forgive me, Martel. I had forgotten your health was in decline.”

The blonde man stepped forward, a hand on his sword, but Martel held out his arm, and the blonde man stayed his hand. “What do you want from us?” the king asked.

Agnes crossed her arms over her chest. “Our first demand is your immediate, complete, and unconditional surrender.”

The old man let out a pained breath. He hunched over, and brought himself down on one knee.

The blonde man looked to the old man in shock. “Father?” he asked, incredulous.

“ _Gadolt,_ ” Martel hissed. “Kneel.”

“You would kneel?” the young man asked, incredulous, pointing to the vanguard. “To _them?”_

“If it will save the people of this city… then yes.”

“Well I _won’t! “_ ” The blonde man drew his sword. “I will not kneel to my brother’s killers. Not now. Not _ever!”_

The old man looked to Gadolt again, his face set in a hard glare. “ _If your pride will not let you kneel for the sake of your people, then take that signet ring off your finger and leave this city._ I have already lost one son, but I won’t hesitate to lose another if it keeps our kingdom out of the hands of one so selfish.”

Gadolt tammered for a moment, before shooting Agnes an angry glare. But in the end, he threw his sword aside, and knelt. The few Burgundian soldiers that were still alive followed suit, and kneeled as well.

Agnes looked down at the two. Her expression was strange- she was smiling, but it wasn't her usual calm smile. She looked… _satisfied_. As if enjoying the sight of a king and prince kneeling before her. “Now… there are further arrangement that we will need to discuss,” she eventually said. “I trust that you will prepare a place where we can hold negotiations?”

Martel nodded. “Of course.” He glanced over. “Gadolt, ready the map room.”

Gadolt growled audibly as he looked at Mother Agnes, but answered, “As you command, Father,” before standing, and climbing the steps.

Agnes looked back over her shoulder. “Ingrid, Evangelyne, Isaac, Captain, with me please. Your input during the negotiations would be most appreciated.”

Uther nodded, saluting the woman in white. “Of course, Mother Agnes. Bannon owes you a great debt for what you’ve done today.” And with that, Agnes and her chosen entourage began to ascend the steps of the castle.

* * *

“…and… here we are,” Zara said. She set her needle and thread aside, and held up a long strip of fabric for inspection. When she was satisfied, she handed it to Prim.

“Thank you, Zara,” the dancer replied, inspecting the length of fabric in turn. Although Quinn had been lucky to avoid Agravain’s city guard, the others hadn’t been so fortunate. A panicked guard had run into Prim, swinging blindly- she’d evaded his blows, but her sash hadn’t been so fortunate. Thankfully, it seemed their forces had suffered no serious injuries.

Prim turned the sash over in her hands several times as she inspected it. “Wow, you can’t even see the stitch. You’re very good at sewing, Zara.” A pause. “Were you… _married?_ B-Before Evangelyne found you?”

Zara shook her head. “Oh no, not at all. Sewing, cooking, cleaning… I learned how to do all that _after_ I joined the Order.”

“Why, though?” Prim asked. “The Abbey has plenty of attendants to take care of all that.”

Zara scratched her neck, secretly glad for her veil. “Well… I wanted to be helpful. I know I have my magic, but I wanted to be helpful _outside_ the battlefield, too.”

Silence settled between the two retainers for a few moments. “You know…” Zara began. “I just realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“For all the time we’ve spent as Evangelyne’s retainers… I think this is the first time we’ve ever really talked to each other,” Zara replied.

Prim blinked, as if surprised. “I… suppose it is.”

“Could we do this again sometime?”

“What? Talk?” Prim asked.

Zara nodded eagerly. “Yes. If you wouldn’t mind, that is.”

Prim tilted her head slightly. “Well, I don’t see why not…”

Nearby, Gideon was tending to his… mount. The others gave him a wide berth. But not Quinn. It was something that had burned in his mind since they met at Fort Felhold; he held his tongue before, but now his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“Gideon?” Quinn began. “There’s been something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Sure,” Gideon replied, turning on his crutch. “What is it?”

“It’s about… well, _that._ ” He pointed at the skeleton.

Gideon looked. “Oh, this is Aire. She’s a familiar Miss Raquel made for me.”

“A familiar…” Quinn knew what they were. Animal spirits that were bound to a mage’s service. They could do all kinds of things. “Why, though?”

“Well, horses are important for my people. But I never got to ride because of my leg. Plus, she helps out when I need to gather materials.”

Gideon’s last sentence stuck out to Quinn. “Wait. Raquel made you go out and collect stuff? With your leg like that?”

Aire snorted. “It’s the least I can do,” Gideon replied. “She took me in. I would’ve died if not for her.”

That was something had heard more than once in Grimhold. But in the end, Quinn but his tongue, and said, “Alright. Thanks for answering my question.” Has

Hours had passed since Mother Agnes and her hand-picked entourage had entered the castle along with King Martel and Prince Gadolt, but there had been no word of the proceedings within. Quinn wasn’t worried about the others’ safety- Agnes had shown she was more than capable of protecting herself. But he couldn’t help but be apprehensive with no new information.

All of a sudden, something hit Quinn’s shoulder, hard. He turned, to find himself facing Raquel. “We need to talk,” she said bluntly. It was clear by her expression that she was upset.

Quinn opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Raquel continued: “I know I probably just look like some helpless maiden to you, but I’m not. I don’t need you to protect me.”

Quinn had been confused about why the witch had been so upset, but on that last sentence, everything became clear. “I never thought that. I’ve seen what you can do. I was with you because… that’s what comrades are _supposed_ to do for each other.”

She crossed her arms over her chest in a huff. “Well, don’t. I’ve made it this far on my own. I don’t need you or anyone else holding my hand.”

Quinn didn’t say anything in reply. He wasn’t sure what he _could_ say in reply. Anything would likely serve only to anger Raquel further, so he held his tongue.

But Raquel wasn’t quite finished: “And one last thing: my eyes aren’t down there.”

“Wh-What?” Quinn stammered. He had absolutely no idea what that meant.

Raquel huffed, crossing her arms over her… chest with a glare. “…you were staring.”

Quinn could only give a flustered stammer in response.

Then, the doors at the top of the steps opened. The Bannish entourage emerged, and descended the steps, lead by Mother Agnes. Near the bottom, the woman in white stopped. The square fell quiet, and all all eyes turned to her.

“Citizens of Burgundy,” Agnes began. “Soldiers of Bannon and Hessen alike, the negotiations have ended. This war is over. We… have won.”

Cheers erupted from the crowd of soldiers. But they were silenced when Mother Agnes held up her hand. “In addition to reparations to Hessen, King Martel has agreed to allow Bannon to establish a special inquiry to investigate King Oswald’s assassination, and pledges his full cooperation in aiding us in rooting out the conspirators. Rest assured, justice will be done for Bannon’s king.”

“But, th hardest part has passed. Eat, drink, be merry, but most of all… rest. You have more than earned it.”

Another wave of cheers erupted from the crowd.

Raquel gripped Quinn’s shoulder. “Don’t think this is over.” She then turned and left.

But before he could go anywhere, a hand was laid on Quinn’s shoulder. It was Ingrid, with a very disquieted expression on her face. “Come with me,” she ordered.

Quinn allowed the inquisitor to pull him away from the square, into an alley far from the noise, and any prying eyes and ears. He quickly understood what this conversation would be about, but still asked, “Is it about that announcement Mother Agnes made?”

“That’s right,” she replied. “I won’t be returning to Bannon. But I won’t be staying in Burgundy as part of the official inquiry, either..”

Quinn blinked in surprise. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he and Ingrid wouldn’t be going home together, but this was not at all what he had anticipated. “Wait, you’re not?”

“No. I brought my suspicions to Mother Agnes’s attention, and she agreed with me. So, she’s authorized me to conduct my own independent investigation into Oswald’s death.”

It was good news. Quinn knew that. He _should_ have been happy. But, knowing that Ingrid would be far away. “…How long will you be gone?” Quinn asked.

“I can’t say. Just sifting through all the potential suspects will take a lot of time.”

Quinn was quiet. Then, Ingrid laid a hand on his shoulder. “I told you that whatever the truth is, I’ll find it. You trust me, don’t you.”

Quinn nodded, without hesitation. “I do.”

She laid another hand on his shoulder, gripping him firmly. “But this has to stay between us. The investigation is strictly between me and Mother Agnes; technically, I’m not allowed to even tell _you_ about it. As far as you and everyone else is concerned, I’m staying in Burgundy to try and reestablish the Order stronghold here in Agravain.” Ingrid took away her hands. “I have to go, tonight. But I didn’t want to leave without saying anything. Put on a brave face for me.”

Quinn nodded with a hard swallow. “Stay safe, Miss Ingrid.”

Without another word, Ingrid pulled Quinn into a tight embrace. But soon, too soon, she let him go. She looked at him, jaw tightening, before she turned, and left the alley.

By the time Quinn left the ally as well, Ingrid was nowhere in sight. He went back to the square. It wasn’t that Ingrid being out of his life was a rare occurrence. He was an adult. He couldn’t lean on her forever. But she gave him something no one else could. Peace of mind. Her mere presence comforted him in a way no one else could. And although he could operate without her, it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Hey, there you are, kid.”

Quinn looked. Leaning against the wall of a narrow alley, Lindow was waiting. “Hey,” Quinn replied. “What is it, Lindow?”

“Blondie and Mr. Bland were looking for you. I think they wanted to invite you to celebrate with them.”

Blondie and Mr. Bland? He must have been talking about Gail and Malcolm. Ingrid’s words echoed in his head- _Put on a brave face for me_. So Quinn smiled. He hoped it was convincing. “Sure. I’ve been wanting to catch up with them,” he replied in what he hoped was a cheerful tone.

Lindow started walking, Quinn falling in step at his side. “You’re pretty lucky, you know. Blondie seems to like you a whole lot.”

“Gail’s like that with everyone,” Quinn replied. Indeed, Gail had never been shy about openly displaying affection for people.

“I’ll give you that she’s friendly, but she doesn’t cling to other people the way she does with you. Or, did you never notice…?”

* * *

“Heeyaah!” Fiona thrust her spear. But Uther deftly parried, knocking her blow to the side. She swiftly followed with a wide swing, but Uther blocked swiftly. Fiona stepped back, readying a thrust- Uther braced himself, but then Fiona darted forward, sweeping Uther's legs from beneath him. He fell, and before he could rise, she pointed the tip of her spear at his chest. “That’s another win for me, Captain,” she said, pulling back her spear.

Uther rose, dusting himself off. “Hah… as sharp as always, Lieutenant.”

Two days had passed since Mother Agnes’s declaration of the war’s end. The ships that would carry their men home were still a few days out, but even with the war over, their training continued. Even with hostilities at an end, they could never be too careful in enemy territory. The two were out of town, near a beach looking over the vast sparkling sea.

“So Captain,” Fiona asked, “why did you really call me out here? You don't usually single me out like this.”

“Am I that easy to read?” the captain pondered, before replying. “You’re right. There _is_ another reason I called you here, Fiona.”

“What is it, Captain?”

Uther looked out over the water. “With my coronation, I’ll no longer be able to hold the title of Captain of the Guard. So, I need to name a successor.”

“I’ll be looking forward to the announcement, Captain.”

Uther looked at Fiona in silence.

“Um, Captain?” Fiona asked. “Did I say something out of line?” She had a realization. “W-Wait. You can’t mean-”

“I do,” he replied firmly. “In all my years, I have never found a more capable soldier. You were meant for this- in fact, there may never be another soldier more fitting.”

Fiona continued to stammer. “But, a woman has never held the position of Captain of the Guard! I don’t-”

Uther laid a firm hand on the knight’s shoulder. “I won’t deny that you will be expected to take on a great deal of responsibility. But, I wouldn’t called on you if I didn’t think you could handle it,” he said. “And I won’t leave you to fend for yourself. When I was selected for the position, my predecessor taught me everything he knew. And I will pass on all his knowledge to you.”

The captain pulled his hand back. “But although you may be the most eligible for the title, the decision is ultimately yours to make. If you choose to accept, I won’t dishonor your _or_ the position by holding back.”

Fiona was quiet for several moments. Then, she raised up her hand, and saluted. “I am honored to accept your offer, Captain.”

Uther grinned. “Good answer. Now, let’s see if we can find a spare scacchi board.”

Fiona blinked. “What? Why?”

“Your responsibilities as Captain of the Guard go far beyond simply fighting. And before we begin your training in earnest, I’d like to test your skills. First, will be your tactical prowess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evangelyne II: Evangelyne’s transformation into a twisted fleshy monster was planned from the very beginning, as Amrita’s power isn’t healing, but control over the way cells divide and mutate. The power was initially inspired by Dead Space’s Necromorphs, but fairly late, I took inspiration from William Birkin from Resident Evil 2 as well.
> 
> Ragnarok: As the eponymous Fire Emblem, Ragnarok enables its wearer to transform into a dragon. In fact, as a fire-breathing dragon, Agnes is technically the only proper Manakete of the story. Compared to the rest of the series, I wanted the Fire Emblem to play a much smaller role in the story than it has in more recent games, being in the hands of a secondary character.


End file.
